« 


UCSB  L1BRMW 


PIGS  IN  CLOVER 


SIXTH  EDITION 


IGS  IN 
CLOVER 


BY 


FRANK  DANBY 

AUTHOR    OF    "  DR.    PHILLIPS  t    A    MAIDA    VALE    IDYLL," 
"A    BABE    IN    BOHEMIA,"     ETC. 


j4nd  each  man  killt  the  thing  he  /crvts. 

By  each  let  this  be  heard, 
Some  do  it  with  a  bitter  look, 

Some  iuith  a  flattering  ivord. 
The  cirward  doe*  it  iuith  a  kits  ... 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1903 
BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

Published  May,  190} 


THE   QUIMM    4   BODEN    CO.    PRESS 
RAHWAY,    N.    J. 


PIGS  IN  CLOVER 


CHAPTER  ONE 


CONSTANTIA  met  him  herself  at  the  station  with  the  ill 
news.  Stephen  Hayward  was  a  father,  but  no  longer  a 
husband.  Angela's  travail  had  ended ;  and  the  dull  grey 
life,  for  Angela's  life  had  in  truth  been  both  dull  and  grey, 
had  gone  out  in  the  agony  of  her  motherhood.  She  was 
not  formed  for  joy.  Stephen,  poor  fellow,  shocked  into 
silence  with  the  news,  news  that  he  read  in  his  sister's 
face,  in  the  grasp  of  her  hand,  in  her  filled  eyes,  followed 
her  into  the  brougham  without  a  question.  But  she  told 
him,  nevertheless,  in  a  few  sentences  all  that  had  hap- 
pened. She  spared  him  the  medical  details.  Everything 
that  it  was  possible  to  do  had  been  done,  the  doctor  said. 
Stephen's  quick  mind  took  in  the  situation. 

"  She  was  thirty-nine,  you  know,"  added  Constantia 
through  her  tears. 

"  Have  you  telegraphed  to  the  Marquis  ?" 

"  To  everybody." 

"  She  seemed  quite  well  when  she  left  town,"  he  said 
dully. 

"  I  think  she  has  been  very  happy,  dear,"  she  replied 
soothingly. 

Stephen  looked  at  her  under  his  tired  eyes.  There  were 
tears  in  Constantia's,  and  a  break  in  her  voice. 

"  Happy !"  he  said,  "  happy.  So  you  think  she  has  been 
very  happy?" 

"  Yes,"  Constantia  answered  hurriedly,  laying  her  hand 

5 


6  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

in  his.  "  I  do  think  she  has  been  happy.  She  loved  you, 
Steve — she  did  really,  always." 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  and  then  relapsed  into  silence.  He 
knew. 

The  brougham  rolled  on  through  the  flat,  bare  country, 
and  the  brother  and  sister  had  no  more  to  say  to  each 
other  of  their  dead  cousin,  of  Stephen's  wife.  The  shadow 
of  her  lay  chill  between  them  as  they  drove.  That  she 
had  been  "  happy"  with  him  was  absurd.  Constantia 
knew  instinctively  that  she  had  touched  the  wrong  note. 
But  it  was  sad,  it  was  horribly  sad,  that  Angela  was  dead ; 
she  had  been  in  no  one's  way. 

"  How  did  you  get  on  ?"  she  asked  presently. 

"  They  listened  to  me." 

Constantia  knew  he  was  satisfied. 

"And  the  division?" 

"  A  Government  majority  of  eight." 

'  That  means  dissolution,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  Something  like  it." 

Stephen  was  never  voluble;  that  was  all  that  Con- 
stantia could  glean  from  him  at  the  moment.  Brother 
and  sister  were  very  silent  in  the  brougham,  and  both  of 
them  thought  of  Angela,  although  the  political  value  of 
Bulgaria  to  the  Fourth  Party  was  so  much  more  vital  to 
them  both.  They  drove  silently  home  along  the  bare 
road  which  had  once  been  a  thick  avenue  of  trees,  the 
road  that  led  up  to  Hadalstone  Hall.  Stephen  hated  all 
the  part  of  his  life  that  lay  in  and  around  Hadalstone. 
Here  he  had  realised  to  what  his  father  had  sunk  both 
name  and  estate.  Here,  as  a  little  child,  he  had  heard 
the  word  "  Disgrace"  thundered  in  his  ears,  and  had  seen 
his  mother  wither  under  the  lash  of  it.  Here,  as  a  lad. 
he  had  returned  to  that  dim,  miserable  dream,  and  found 
it  wealed  across  her  wounded  heart.  This  was  his  patri- 
mony— disgrace,  bare  mortgaged  acres,  and  a  dismantled 
house.  And  yet  he  could  not  part  with  it,  and  yet,  when 
Angela  was  to  bear  him  a  child,  it  was  here  it  must  be 
born.  His  pride  was  rooted  in  the  place. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  7 

He  turned  to  Constantia  when  the  Hall  was  in  sight. 

"  The  luck  of  the  place  follows  it,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose 
she  hated  being  here  ?" 

"  She  liked  being  here.  Again  and  again  she  said  she 
was  glad  she  was  at  Hadalstone.  You  know,  Steve,"  she 
added  beneath  her  breath,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  it  was 
here  you  first  met." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm.    He  took  her  hand. 

"  You  are  a  good  soul,  Con.  You  and  Angela  were 
always  too  good  for  me." 

"  I  am  very  proud  of  you,  my  dear.  I  have  always  been 
proud  of  you,"  she  answered  with  simple  truth. 

He  knew  his  unworthiness  of  these  two  good  women's 
love  and  trust,  but  intellectual  pride  and  consciousness  of 
strength  were  perhaps  better  than  the  virtues  with  which 
they  credited  him. 

"  Is  the  boy  all  right?"  he  asked  Constantia. 

"  Boy !  What  boy  ?  I  beg  your  pardon ;  my  thoughts 
were  wandering.  I  meant  to  tell  you,  it  is  a  girl." 

"  Good  heavens !    How  like  Angela  to  have  a  girl." 

Then  he  was  silent,  perhaps  ashamed  to  have  remem- 
bered at  this  moment  her  characteristic  awkwardness. 
The  ten  years  between  the  days  when  as  a  boy  he  had 
made  love  to  her,  and  the  hour  when  he  riveted  his  claims 
on  the  family  by  leading  her  to  the  altar,  had  developed 
his  knowledge  of  her.  A  dull  woman,  plain,  with  the 
respectable  ideals  of  the  bourgeoisie. 

The  old  butler  stood  in  the  hall  with  gloomy  face ;  all 
the  blinds  were  drawn  down.  Last  night's  scene  in  the 
House  was  clear  to  Stephen  against  the  background  of 
this  gloomy  old  home  of  his.  There  had  been  his 
triumph ;  here  was  his  misfortune,  misfortune  others  had 
made  for  him.  In  the  Hall,  in  that  first  moment  of  ar- 
rival, he  had  a  bitter  feeling  towards  even  Angela,  towards 
his  dead  wife.  His  place  at  Westminster  he  had  won 
for  himself.  She  dragged  him  back  here,  now,  in  the 
moment  of  his  triumph,  to  drive  it  into  him  that  this  was 
his  heritage. 


8  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

A  little  later  he  went  alone  into  the  death  chamber.  It 
was  just  as  it  had  been  in  his  mother's  time;  on  that 
carved  mahogany  four-poster  he  had  seen  her  pale  dead 
face.  The  scent  of  death  in  the  room,  he  remembered  that 
too ;  and  the  old  servant  who  had  said : 

"  Don't  grieve,  Master,  don't  you  fret.  Poor  lady,  it's 
well  she's  gone ;  for  she  couldn't  forget  what  your  father 
had  done,  and  where  he'd  spent  two  years ;  and  '  Keep 
my  boy  abroad ;  don't  let  him  know ;  don't  let  him  hear/ 
was  what  she  said  to  your  uncle,  time  after  time. 
Although  she  longed  for  you,  she  would  never  let  you 
come." 

It  was  in  this  room  the  veil  had  been  lifted,  and  he 
knew  that,  though  the  blood  of  all  the  Haywards  was  in 
his  veins,  he  was,  nevertheless,  a  felon's  son. 

How  the  cold  of  the  room  went  through  him  now,  he 
shivered  as  he  stood.  There  was  no  old  servant  in  the 
room  now,  he  was  alone.  But  the  words  were  there,  they 
hung  about  the  shabby  draperies,  he  felt  them  as  he  ap- 
proached the  bed  where  the  sheeted  figure  lay,  stiffly 
defined.  He  could  not  raise  the  sheet  for  a  moment ;  he 
stood  still  and  remembered. 

Poor  Angela !  Even  death  had  not  beautified  her, — and 
Stephen  was  ultra-sensitive.  High  cheek  bones,  and  dead 
sunken  eyes,  blue  stone,  thin  sunken  mouth,  blue  too, 
pinched  nose ;  the  grave  clothes  lay  flat  on  her  flat  chest. 

"  A  badly-made  woman,  and  too  old  to  have  had  a 
child,"  was  the  thought  that  rose  in  that  logical  mind  of 
his.  Then  he  stooped  and  replaced  the  sheet,  not  without 
reverence.  Dutifulness,  when  he  was  at  Hadalstone,  lay 
on  Stephen  as  a  garment,  a  garment  worn  in  defiance 
of,  and  in  revolt  against,  Jack  Hayward's  lawlessness. 
Having  reverently  replaced  the  sheet,  he  lingered  in  the 
room  a  few  moments,  and  tried  to  give  his  thoughts  to  the 
dead  woman. 

Death  gave  Angela  no  dignity,  as  it  had  given  her  no 
beauty.  Stephen  remembered  he  had  thought  it  strange 
that  she  had  failed  to  see  the  humour  of  his  making  love 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  9 

to  her.  It  was  not  because  there  were  ten  years  between 
them,  for  there  were  ten  years  between  him  and  Con,  and 
Constantia  was  a  woman  whom  any  man  might  have 
wooed  and  wed. 

He  stood  in  the  chamber  where  Angela  lay  dead,  and 
tried  to  think  tenderly  of  her. 

The  family  interest — she  had  secured  him  that.  The 
few  years  of  their  married  life  had  been  years  of  unin- 
terrupted political  growth.  And  he  was  grateful,  he 
knew  he  was  grateful.  Never  from  him  had  she  had  an 
ungentle  word.  Her  blood  circulated  slowly,  she  was 
awkwardly  philanthropic,  socially  shy.  But  he  reproached 
her  for  nothing,  contradicted  her  never,  she  had  lived  at 
his  side  and  he  had  disregarded  her  with  complete  amia- 
bility. No  differences  of  opinion  had  vexed  their  short 
married  life;  for  Angela  had  no  opinions,  and  Stephen 
had  not  been  interested  as  to  whether  she  shared  his. 
There  was  no  common  ground  between  them  whereon 
they  could  stand  to  quarrel;  they  had  had  no  quarrels. 
When  he  had  realised  she  had  no  sense  of  humour,  he 
even  discontinued  laughing  at  her. 

When  he  left  the  room,  remembering  these  things,  he 
thought  he  had  been  good  to  her,  that  he  had  done  his 
duty  by  her. 

But  her  death  was  badly  timed.  Angela  had  always 
had  a  tendency  to  do  the  wrong  thing  at  the  wrong  time. 
There  were,  there  ought  to  be,  crises  at  St.  Stephen's. 
His  place  was  there  now ;  every  hour  he  was  away  might 
count  against  him.  There  were  so  many  men,  so  few 
places. 

He  grudged  the  time  she  lay  dead  above  ground.  Out- 
wardly he  did  everything  that  was  correct.  Inwardly  he 
chafed,  walked  up  and  down  the  library  like  a  caged  ani- 
mal ;  waited  feverishly  for  telegrams,  despatches,  fresh 
editions  of  the  newspapers. 

Con  understood  him  and  left  him  alone.  But  she  was 
a  dutiful  woman,  it  was  instinct  with  her,  not  revolt,  and, 
before  he  left  Hadalstone,  she  brought  the  baby,  the  .little, 


10  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

ill-timed,  unwanted  girl,  for  him  to  see.  He  was  in  the 
hall,  the  trap  was  at  the  door.  He  looked  at  the  baby,  of 
course,  fastidiously,  distastefully,  fidgeting  with  his  neck- 
tie, adjusting  the  collar  of  his  coat,  obviously  nervous  and 
bored  with  the  duty  before  him. 

"  Seems  a  trifle  unnecessary,"  he  said,  with  a  perfunc- 
tory glance,  preparing  to  retreat  if  more  were  expected 
of  him. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Constantia,  somewhat  doubtfully ; 
the  bundle  in  her  arms  moved  her,  it  was  so  small  and 
light.  "  It  is  very  weakly ;  it  ought  to  be  christened,  I 
think." 

He  looked  at  it.  Out  of  a  puckered  red  face  two  blue 
eyes  wandered  pathetically  on  to  a  motherless  world. 

"  Singularly  ugly,  isn't  it?"  he  asked  again. 

"  I  think  it  is  like  Angela,"  she  said,  bending  over  it 
tenderly.  Angela  was  not  so  plain  to  her;  she  was  just 
Angela,  Stephen's  first  rung.  Con  did  not  realise  that 
she  had  damned  effectually  in  its  father's  eyes  the  little 
thing  she  held  in  her  arms. 

"  Ah !  have  it  christened  by  all  means.  Do  the  right 
thing,  Con ;  you  know  I'm  up  to  my  neck  in  work." 

He  got  away  from  Hadalstone,  from  Angela's  baby, 
as  quickly  as  he  could.  He  pictured  her  afterwards,  for 
many  years,  Angela's  daughter,  flat-footed,  full  of  plati- 
tudinous commonplaces,  a  figureless  girl  with  lank  hair. 
Picture  and  reality,  however,  were  very  different. 

Stephen  had  no  time  for  domestic  life  after  his  wife's 
death ;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  little  inclination  for  it 
then  or  before.  Politics  and  salmon-fishing  occupied  him 
ostensibly,  but  there  was  a  trace  of  his  father  in  him 
nevertheless.  He  was  no  saint,  but,  realising  the  value 
of  the  world's  good  opinion,  he  maintained  his  own  self- 
respect,  and  acquired  theirs,  by  his  apparent  acceptance 
of  popular  standards.  The  greater  part  of  his  life  was 
lived  in  public,  a  small  part  in  supremest  darkness,  the 
rest  with  Constantia,  who  did  more  for  him  than  wife  or 
secretary,  and  looked  upon  him  always  as  a  sacred 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  11 

charge.  She  read  an  excessive  sensitiveness  into  his 
complexities,  affairs  of  State  into  his  rare  absences,  and 
gave  him  every  latitude. 

There  was  no  room  in  his  life  for  Aline  Victoria 
Ernestine  Hayward,  as  they  had  christened  Angela's 
baby.  Practically  he  handed  her  over  to  Constantia,  who 
had  arranged  his  marriage,  dreamed  over  his  career,  and 
lived  her  life  believing  in  his  power  to  rehabilitate  their 
branch  of  the  Hayward  family.  The  Hayward  family 
was  her  religion,  Stephen  her  god.  Constantia  took  up 
the  little  burden  that  Stephen  had  laid  upon  her  as  she 
had  always  gladly  taken  up  Stephen's  burdens,  and  did 
her  duty  by  it  conscientiously. 

Poor  little  baby !  it  lived  at  Hadalstone.  Stephen  saw 
it  at  rare  intervals;  and  it  happened  that  on  three  out 
of  four  of  these  occasions,  when  Stephen's  parental 
promptings  brought  him  to  Hadalstone,  it  would  develop 
the  usual  infantile  ailments.  Therefore  he  never  cor- 
rected his  first  impression,  never  dissociated  her  from  her 
mother — until  too  late. 

In  fourteen  years  Stephen  visited  Hadalstone  about  halt 
a  dozen  times.  He  always  spoke  amiably  of  the  child, 
and  to  her  on  the  rare  occasions  when  they  met  in  the 
darkened  sick-room;  and,  when  she  was  convalescent, 
he  would  send  her,  or  Constantia  would  send  in  his  name, 
toys,  cakes,  money.  The  name  of  father  became  synony- 
mous in  her  youngest  days  with  pleasant  things.  Later, 
it  became  synonymous  with  great  ones.  Stephen's  foot- 
steps scarcely  wavered  during  Aline's  childhood.  The 
Fourth  Party  collapsed  and  the  brilliant  leader  with  it, 
but  Stephen  Hayward  found  safety  and  possibilities  under 
a  Liberal  Government. 

It  was  but  for  a  short  time,  however.  A  great  political 
landmark  was  swept  away;  an  old  man  in  his  dotage 
had  put  his  hands  on  a  mighty  lever — the  love  of  the  sons 
of  the  Empire  for  the  mother  that  bore  them.  The  ma- 
chinery moved,  groaned,  turned,  and  Liberalism  was 
shattered  and  scattered  in  the  first  rotation  of  the  wheel. 


12  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Other  men  were  flung  here  and  there  in  the  revolution, 
moved  by  strange  cranks.  Stephen  was  flung  back  into 
the  arms  of  the  Party  with  which  he  had  originally  been 
associated, — the  Party  of  which  Lord  Sarum  was  the 
head.  He  drew  his  cousin  with  him,  and  thus  the  Mar- 
quis of  Jevington,  and  his  sons  and  nephews  and  cousins 
and  all  his  relations,  found  themselves  standing  shoulder 
to  shoulder  in  their  strong,  united  effort  to  stop  the 
mischief  that  the  dotard  had  done. 

Of  all  those  relatives  and  lieutenants  of  the  great  house 
that  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  supporting  the  leadership 
of  Lord  Sarum,  there  were  few  more  active,  or  more 
valuable,  than  Stephen  Hayward,  with  his  thin,  nervous 
face  and  clever,  cynical  tongue,  the  son  of  that  old  black- 
guard, by  courtesy,  Lord  John  Hayward,  who  had  been  the 
family  disgrace  and  the  family  scandal  in  days  gone  by. 

After  the  final  defeat  of  the  Home  Rule  Bill,  Stephen 
Hayward's  position  was  assured.  The  Marquis  was  again 
in  the  Cabinet,  and  his  brilliant  cousin  was  Under-Secre- 
tary  of  State.  If  he  had  to  wait  for  place,  he  had  never 
again  to  wait  for  appreciation.  Much  that  he  had  wanted, 
it  seemed  to  him,  he  had  achieved,  although  he  was  a  poor 
man,  and  his  poverty  still  galled  him.  By  this  time  the 
whole  family,  that  family  with  its  many  ramifications  and 
its  great  name,  were  satisfied  that  Stephen  Hayward  was 
one  with  it. 

They  had  their  own  way  of  showing  their  appreciation 
and  their  respect,  as,  in  early  days,  when  the  old  Marquis 
had  supported  him  and  encouraged  him,  they  had  had 
their  own  way  of  showing  him  the  cold  shoulder,  of  let- 
ting him  know  that  his  father  rankled  with  them,  and  that 
he  was  his  father's  son.  Now,  not  only  the  Dowager,  but 
the  Countess  of  Whittendone  and  Lady  Sarah  Comner- 
lies,  and  all  the  aunts  and  cousins  buzzed  around  him,  and 
exhibited  their  satisfaction  with  him.  And  they  began 
to  be  interested  in  Aline,  and  to  cross-examine  Constan- 
tia  about  her,  and  to  interfere  in  the  selection  of  her  gov- 
ernesses, and  her  dresses,  her  education,  and  her  mode 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  13 

of  life.  The  Duchess  even,  who,  although  she  was  but  a 
distant  branch  of  the  family,  was  the  real  head  of  it  since 
the  death  of  the  old  Marquis,  undertook  to  present 
Stephen  Hayward's  daughter  when  the  time  should  come. 
In  the  meantime,  she  remembered  Aline  was  her  god- 
daughter, and  worried  Constantia  by  letter  to  be  careful 
of  the  girl's  deportment. 

No  more  than  her  brother,  had  Constantia  had  much 
time  for  Aline  in  the  stirring  years  of  Stephen's  political 
life  that  followed  the  establishment  of  the  Unionist  party. 
For,  now  in  office,  and  now  in  opposition,  Stephen's 
talents,  Stephen's  brilliant  militarism,  never  went  unrec- 
ognised. He  was  listened  to,  he  was  waited  for,  the 
aroma  of  the  "  coming  man"  hung  about  him.  Every- 
thing was  expected  of  him,  and  some  things  were  feared. 
He  became  at  once  the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  his 
Party.  They  could  not  reckon  without  him,  nor  quite 
with  him.  In  those  years  whilst  the  baby  at  Hadalstone 
was  growing  into  girlhood,  Stephen  Hayward  became  a 
personality,  and  although  he  had  as  yet  held  no  office 
higher  than  his  under-secretaryship,  there  was  not  one 
that  seemed  too  high  for  his  wayward  abilities. 

Constantia's  income  was  vital  to  Stephen,  his  own  was 
ever  precarious;  the  house  in  Grosvenor  Street,  which 
had  come  to  her  with  that  income,  was  his  London  resi- 
dence. And  there  together  they  lived,  and  she  watched 
him  with  ever  gathering  pride,  and  never  wavering  faith. 
Youth,  beauty,  and  love,  Constantia  Hayward  had  relin- 
quished that  she  might  help  Stephen;  all  of  these  went 
past  her  in  the  years  in  which  Aline  grew  to  girlhood. 
Now  that  she  was  fifty  and  grey,  and  the  claims  of  the 
child  were  pressed  upon  her,  it  was  still  Stephen  that  held 
all  her  maiden  heart. 

As  Constantia  could  give  time  and  attention  to  Aline, 
so  could  Stephen  take  some  measure  of  rest  in  that  short 
summer  session  of  1893.  Once  more  he  was  in  the  Oppo- 
sition ;  once  more  a  fickle  and  ill-informed  electorate  had 
entrusted  the  Empire  to  weak  Liberal  hands.  It  was  a 


14  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

time  of  waiting;  there  was  little  to  be  done  at  the  mo- 
ment but  watch.  Stephen  went  fishing  in  Scotland,  and 
Constantia  paid  a  round  of  country-house  visits.  To  both 
of  them  it  tasted  sweet  in  the  mouth  that,  where  they 
once  were  tolerated  and  pitied,  now  they  were  esteemed 
and  envied.  About  them  both  now  was  that  social  assur- 
ance that  told  of  achievement.  They  were  quietly  tri- 
umphant, and  accepted  the  position  they  had  won, 
Stephen  with  reticence  and  Constantia  with  dignity;  but 
there  was  no  doubt  it  illuminated  both  their  lives.  The 
early  autumn  of  '93,  although  Stephen  was  in  Opposition 
and  their  finances  were  somewhat  straitened,  was  one  of 
content  for  them  both. 

Whilst  Stephen  had  had  his  short  spell  with  the  rod, 
Constantia  had  found  time  for  a  flying  visit  to  Hadal- 
stone.  To-night  in  Grosvenor  Street  they  met  again,  and 
Stephen  thought  this  tall  grey  lady  with  the  slender  figure 
and  calm  face  graced  his  home  completely.  She  filled  the 
faded  drawing-room  for  him  with  that  distinction  which 
gratified  his  taste.  Their  companionship  was  perfect,  be- 
cause all  of  this  brilliant,  strange  brother  of  hers  that 
Constantia  saw  but  dimly  she  had  the  sense  and  courtesy 
to  leave  untouched ;  there  was  no  listening  behind  the 
doors  of  his  character  to  discover  his  aestheticism,  his 
interest  in  the  higher  philosophy,  his  few  experiments  in 
classic  tradition.  She  was  in  sympathy  with  his  opinions 
and  politics,  with  his  ambition  and  the  recoil  from  his 
father's  history  that  had  prompted  it.  To-night  with  her 
grey  hair  and  her  face  still  maidenly,  in  her  grey  velvet 
with  its  rose  point  kerchief,  she  seemed  to  him  the  epit- 
ome of  a  cultured  womanliness.  The  slight  touch  of  aus- 
terity that  hung  about  her,  that  was  as  the  aroma  which 
clings  to  the  dead  leaves  of  faded  roses,  became  her  well. 
His  appreciation  of  her  included  it. 

When  he  gave  her  his  arm  into  the  dining-room  he 
almost  told  her  so.  They  did  not  often  bandy  compli- 
ments, this  brother  and  sister,  but  Stephen,  as  he  led  her 
downstairs,  said: 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  15 

"  You  are  looking  very  well,  Con ;  London  seems  to 
have  agreed  with  you." 

"  I  have  not  been  in  London ;  I  have  been  at  Hadal- 
stone,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"  At  Hadalstone !"  he  exclaimed  with  surprise.  For  in 
their  autumn  plans  this  visit  had  not  been  projected.  And 
then  he  frowned,  for  all  of  his  pride  and  none  of  his  hap- 
piness was  at  Hadalstone,  and  his  daughter  there  was  but 
a  vague  responsibility  to  him,  less  real  than  the  shadows, 
his  father,  his  poor  mother,  his  dead  wife.  "  You  did  not 
tell  me  you  were  going  to  Hadalstone." 

"  I  had  not  intended  to  go,  but  Aunt  Mary  seems  to 
have  paid  Aline  a  flying  visit,"  —  Aunt  Mary  was  the 
Duchess, — "  and  she  wrote  me  such  a  long  letter  about 
Miss  Clare  and  Miss  Clare's  flirtation  with  the  curate, 
and  Aline's  education,  and  general  childishness,  that  I 
thought  I  ought  to  go  down  myself  and  see  how  things 
were.'' 

"  And  you  found —  ?"  he  asked,  unfolding  his  dinner 
napkin,  contemplating  his  soup. 

"  A  certain  amount  of  justice  in  her  complaints — too 
much  justice,  in  fact." 

Constantia  was  a  woman  of  the  highest  principle,  and, 
although  the  Duchess  had  found  fault  with  her,  she  could 
give  the  Duchess  right. 

"  Poor  Con,"  said  Stephen,  with  whimsical  sympathy. 
"  Aunt  Mary  on  the  war-path !  Didn't  you  tell  her  you 
were  my  secretary,  and  had  no  time  to  spare  from  your 
selfish  brother?" 

"  No,  dear,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  affectionately,  "  I 
told  her  nothing ;  but  I  went  down  to  see,  and  I  do  think 
we  ought  to  make  some  change.  Miss  Clare  is  a  nice  girl 
and  a  good  girl ;  her  flirtation  with  the  curate  turned  out 
to  be  a  quite  legitimate  engagement,  quite  suitable  too, 
but  Aline " 

She  paused  a  little.  She  and  her  brother  had  a  certain 
sympathetic  understanding.  He  had  come  home  full  of 
plans  for  an  electoral,  or  by-electoral,  campaign. 


16  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

He  had  been  staying  with  the  Marquis.  Lord  Sarum 
had  been  there,  and  together  they  had  made  a  survey  of 
the  political  horizon.  All  saw  the  death-cloud  hovering 
over  the  head  of  the  poor  old  man  who  was  trying  to 
steer  the  ship,  the  very  machinery  of  which  had  been 
altered  past  his  senile  understanding.  They  saw  his  suc- 
cessor, and  knew  him  for  a  negligible  quantity.  Openly, 
Stephen  had  discussed  with  them  the  Disestablishment 
of  the  Church  in  Wales,  but,  in  moments  of  rare  inti- 
macy, Lord  Sarum  had  admitted  that  he  did  not  think 
the  new  Liberal  Party  had  any  real  hold  on  the  country. 
No  promise  had  been  made  to  Stephen,  but  he  under- 
stood that  the  post  he  coveted  would  be  his  for  the  ask- 
ing when  the  country  should  awake  to  its  interests,  and 
give  its  honour  into  the  keeping  of  the  Conservative 
leader. 

He  had  come  home  full  of  his  visit  to  the  Marquis. 
He  and  Constantia  had  not  spoken  of  it  yet ;  they  had  a 
hundred  things  of  which  to  speak.  Aline  was  so  very 
subsidiary;  the  child,  she  was  only  a  child,  held  no  con- 
scious place  in  the  minds  of  either.  Constantia  felt  the 
want  of  tact  in  commencing  to  speak  of  her,  and  of  plans 
for  her,  until  they  had  discussed  the  position. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  Aline !  what  of  Aline?  Surely  she 
hasn't  taken  the  measles  again?" 

"  I  think  she  ought  to  have  finishing  governesses,  mas- 
ters ;"  then  she  added  hesitatingly,  "  Do  you  think — what 
do  you  think  of  moving  her  from  Hadalstone,  of  bringing 
her  up  here  ?  She  is  quite  strong  now." 

There  had  been  a  fiction  associated  with  Aline's  early 
childhood  that  she  was  delicate,  that  London  was  impos- 
sible for  her,  that  the  fine  bracing  air  of  Hadalstone  was 
necessary  to  her  rearing. 

"  Here !"   Stephen's  face  expressed  Stephen's  distaste. 

"  She  ought  to  have  governesses  and  masters.  Aunt 
Mary  says  she  is  musical " 

"No!  you  don't  mean  it!  Angela  was  musical,  you 
remember."  His  dismay  was  not  all  assumed,  although 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  17 

perhaps  exaggerated  to  disarm  Constantia's  reproof.  An- 
gela's music  had  been  indeed  a  trial  to  brother  and  sister ; 
the  Continent  had  taught  them  too  much. 

"  Will  she  practise  her  scales  whilst  I  am  dictating?" 

"  Oh,  perhaps,"  Constantia  hesitated.  It  would  be  a 
thousand  pities,  she  thought,  if  Stephen  should  be  incon- 
venienced, the  charm  of  their  mutual  life  interrupted. 
"  Perhaps  a  different  sort  of  governess,  a  finishing  gov- 
erness down  there." 

"  Of  course" — he  pushed  his  plate  away — "  Of  course, 
a  finishing  governess,  that's  the  thing." 

He  had  enjoyed  an  excellent  dinner.  Constantia  was 
a  restful  woman  to  sit  opposite,  the  best  of  companions, 
cultured,  not  too  intellectual,  devoted  to  him,  assured  that 
he  was  the  most  brilliant  of  his  sex,  and  that  the  only 
position  suitable  for  him  was  head  of  the  State.  Also  the 
electric  light,  a  new  installation,  was  admirably  shaded, 
the  handsome  room  looked  at  its  best  in  the  red  reflection, 
its  shabbiness  was  concealed ;  the  white  cloth  threw  into 
relief  the  Queen  Anne  silver  with  the  Hayward  crest,  the 
rare  cut  glass  that  he  had  collected  himself.  The  Board 
of  Trade  that  his  cousin  had  hinted  at  was  not  perhaps 
all  he  had  expected,  but  Brodribb  wanted  it,  and  Stephen 
would  get  it;  and  Stephen,  who  had  been  named  with 
that  prominent  Conservative,  had  Whig  enough  left  in 
his  Unionist  clothing  to  be  glad  that  it  would  not  be 
wrongly  placed.  Altogether  the  son  of  Jack  Hayward, 
looking  round  him  at  things  in  general,  was  not  dissatis- 
fied. To  bring  a  child  into  the  house,  a  girl-child  prac- 
tising scales,  with  Angela's  lank  hair,  big  feet,  general 
awkwardness,  would  be  to  spoil  his  life ;  he  really  felt  it 
would  spoil  his  life  to  have  the  child  meeting  him  on  the 
stairs,  filling  the  place  with  her  incongruity. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  selfish ;  you  have  made  me  so,"  he  said 
to  Con  affectionately.  "  I  don't  want  anything  to  inter- 
rupt our  life  together." 

Neither  in  truth  did  she.  She  was  so  proud  of  her 
brother,  of  her  position  with  him;  she  missed  nothing 


18  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

that  other  women  had  of  husband  or  children.  Stephen 
was  all-sufficing. 

And,  after  all,  it  would  have  been  awkward  to  bring 
Aline  to  town  just  now.  For  Stephen  and  Constantia 
were  engaged  six  weeks  deep;  and,  notwithstanding 
Stephen's  occasional  official  income,  there  were  always 
debts  and  difficulties  about  money  in  the  Hayward  fam- 
ily, and  no  room  for  unlimited  expenditure  on  a  retinue 
of  maid  and  governess  and  tutor,  and,  as  it  were,  a  whole 
establishment  for  Aline. 

So  it  was  settled  that,  for  the  present,  she  should  re- 
main in  the  country,  and  that  Constantia,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  Duchess,  who  would  then  be  satisfied,  should 
secure  for  her  a  superior  governess  to  replace  the  some- 
what frivolous  and  inferior  Miss  Clare. 

After  this  decision  was  happily  reached,  Stephen  began 
to  enjoy  his  evening,  to  talk  to  Con  and  to  listen  to  her, 
to  make  plans  for  his  coming  office,  and  frame  speeches 
with  which  to  meet  his  constituents  after  Christmas. 


CHAPTER  Two 


THAT  was  how  Fraulein  Eckel  stein  came  to  Hadalstone 
Hall  sixteen  years  after  Angela's  death,  to  stand  in  the 
place  of  mother,  father,  brothers,  and  sisters  to  Aline,  to 
be  her  companion,  to  fill  the  life  of  a  girl,  a  girl  who, 
though  Stephen  had  forgotten  the  fact  or  its  significance, 
was  Lord  John  Hayward's  granddaughter,  and  might 
(this  was  only  problematic,  yet  it  should  have  been  taken 
into  consideration)  have  inherited  from  him  as  well  as 
from  Angela.  Moreover,  let  it  be  understood  at  once, 
anything  less  like  his  daughter  than  Stephen's  mental  pic- 
ture of  her  at  this  moment  it  would  be  impossible  *o  find. 

Fraulein  Eckelstein  arrived  one  dull  autumn  evening, 
and  Aline,  rather  shy,  in  her  short  school-room  dress  and 
pinafore,  her  long  fair  hair  down  her  back,  and  her  blue 
eyes  still  misty  with  the  tears  shed  over  Miss  Clare's  de- 
parture, was  in  the  hall  waiting  for  her  with  eager  ex- 
pectancy. It  was  a  dull  life  the  child  had  lived  at  Hadal- 
stone, and  even  the  coming  of  a  new  governess  was  an 
excitement.  Miss  Clare  had  been  there  ever  since  Aline 
could  remember ;  she  was  a  kind  and  gentle  creature  of 
the  recognised  nursery-governess  type,  curiously  igno- 
rant, and  very  sentimental.  She  nurtured  romantic 
attachments,  sometimes  to  the  ritualistic  rector,  and  some- 
times to  the  elderly  doctor's  locum  tenens,  and  always  to 
the  Honourable  Stephen  Hayward,  whom  she  had  seen 
on  rare  occasions.  She  and  Aline  talked  of  him  fre- 
quently in  the  key  Constantia  set,  regarding  him  as  a 
king  amongst  men,  in  intellect  as  in  character,  a  Bayard 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  That  she  had  finally  given  her 
heart  and  hand  to  the  curate  was,  as  Constantia  had  said, 
completely  suitable. 


20  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Aline  expected  Fraulein  Eckel  stein  at  least  to  share  the 
opinion  of  her  little  world ;  but  the  very  first  evening  she 
was  disillusioned.  Fraulein  said : 

"  I  haf  not  heard  of  your  father ;  I  haf  not  seen  him. 
Your  aunt  it  was  I  saw." 

"  But  you  know  how  great  my  father  is ;  you  know  he 
might  have  been  in  the  Cabinet  if  he  had  remained  with 
Gladstone?" 

"  I  would  haf  you  know  there  is  no  great  statesman  in 
England ;  no  man  is  like  the  Count  von  Bismarck.  You 
haf  much  to  learn." 

Fraulein  Eckelstein  was  a  treasure.  Constantia  had 
been  most  careful  in  examining  her  credentials,  and  the 
Duchess  had  agreed  with  her  that  they  were  really  beyond 
reproach. 

"  A  treasure,  my  dear.  The  very  woman  for  poor  An- 
gela's girl;  I  congratulate  you  on  having  secured  her," 
said  the  old  lady,  out  of  the  wisdom  of  her  eighty  years. 
"  I  see  by  her  papers  that  she  is  certificated  here  as  well  as 
in  Germany,  and  that  she  was  with  the  Von  Orlondoff 
girls.  Very  charming  girls  they  were,  I  remember.  One 
of  them  married  Cecil's  nephew,  and  the  other  is  in  Rome 
— Princess  Plom.  You  could  not  have  done  better." 

If  Aline  had  inherited  anything  from  her  grandfather, 
she  had  certainly  inherited  from  her  father  his  fastidious- 
ness, his  aesthetic  sense,  his  refinement  of  sensation ;  that 
one  saw  at  once  in  her  delicate,  high-bred  air,  in  her 
childish  daintinesses  and  dislikes.  But  there  was  no  one 
to  note  Aline's  dislikes;  she  was  very  childish  for  her 
sixteen  years,  and  shy.  She  only  knew  what  Miss  Clare 
had  taught  her. 

She  waited  for  her  new  governess  in  the  old  hall. 
Almost  the  first  words  of  Fraulein  Eckelstein  were  to 
complain  that  it  was  draughty.  It  was  of  oak,  black  with 
age;  the  supporting  columns  of  the  wide  staircase  had 
been  carved  by  Grinling  Gibbons,  but  the  panelling  of 
the  walls  that  held  the  ancestral  portraits  had  been  there 
two  centuries  before  his  time. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  21 

"  Draughty !"  repeated  Aline,  with  wide  eyes,  won- 
dering. She  was  a  child  of  the  open  air,  the  pale  rose  of 
her  young  cheeks  was  sun-kissed,  wind-caressed,  her  fair- 
ness browned  a  little  through  its  transparency. 

"  It  is  very  draughty ;  we  will  not  linger  here  long.  I 
will  go  to  my  room  now.  We  will  not  begin  work  until 
to-morrow.  I  do  hope  that  the  school-room  has  south 
aspect.  Now,  you  show  me  my  rooms.  We  will  be  very 
good  friends,  and  you  will  work  hard,  eh !  but  to-night  I 
must  rest;  I  haf  my  neuralgia.  I  will  haf  supper  in 
mein  own  room." 

That  was  the  first  Aline  heard  of  draught  or  of  neu- 
ralgia. Miss  Clare  had  been  a  healthy  English  girl,  not- 
withstanding her  leaning  to  romance  and  sentimentalism. 

"  I  do  not  like  the  bedroom  you  haf  given  me,"  she 
said  the  next  morning,  "  there  is  dirty  stuff  on  the  walls ; 
the  bed  is  wooden,  wooden.  I  cannot  sleep." 

That  she  disparaged  the  tapestry  hangings  of  the 
second-best  bedroom,  and  its  bed  of  Spanish  mahogany, 
hurt  the  child  somehow.  She  loved  her  home,  there  was 
nothing  else  for  her  to  love;  decayed,  dilapidated,  bare 
it  was,  yet  she  loved  it,  knew  its  history,  and  the  history 
of  all  its  rooms. 

"  I'll  tell  the  housekeeper,"  she  said  quietly;  "  she  will 
change  it  for  you.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  choose  one. 
We  have  twenty-seven  bedrooms,"  she  was  proud  of  that ; 
that  twenty  of  them  were  uninhabitable  seemed  of  no 
consequence.  "  I  chose  yours  for  you ;  I  thought  you 
would  like  it.  The  tapestry  there  is  Dutch,  and  so  is  the 
chest  in  the  corner.  It  was  Captain  Thomas  Hayward's 
room,  the  one  who  fought  at  Leyden  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury." 

"  It  is  very  dirty,"  said  Fraulein  Eckelstein. 

She  was  a  tall  woman,  had  mittens  on  her  bony  hands, 
and  a  shawl  over  her  sloping  shoulders.  She  was  truly  an 
excellent  creature,  but  she  had  ruined  her  system  in  her 
youth  by  cramming  a  very  small  brain  with  dry  cachets 
of  learning.  She  was  conscientiously  anxious  to  feed  her 


22  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

new  pupil  on  the  same  pabulum.  It  had  not  been  thought 
necessary  in  her  case  to  wash  it  down  with  the  milk  of 
human  kindness  ;  there  was  no  milk  in  her. 

Among  the  idiosyncrasies  that  Aline  hated  most  was 
Fraulein's  habit  of  wearing  a  black  silk  apron,  and  of 
constantly  using  her  pocket-handkerchief.  Every  time 
her  bony  hand  drew  her  handkerchief  from  her  glace  silk 
pocket  the  child's  teeth  were  set  on  edge.  Then,  Aline 
loved  England, — that  was  in  the  Hayward  blood,  their 
inalienable  inheritance ;  and  Fraulein  disparaged  England 
in  favour  of  the  Fatherland,  from  which,  by  the  way,  like 
so  many  of  her  compatriots,  she  had  voluntarily  exiled 
herself  from  the  meanest  motives.  She  found  the  climate 
insupportable,  and  she  excluded  as  much  of  it  as  possible. 
Aline's  lesson  time  was  a  continuous  struggle  to  keep 
awake  in  a  room  from  which  all  draughts  and  all  air  were 
shut  out  relentlessly. 

Fraulein's  digestion  played  as  prominent  a  part  in  her 
conversation  as  her  neuralgia. 

"  It  is  your  English  cookery,  your  vile  English  cookery, 
that  I  feel ;  the  beef  and  the  mutton,  the  mutton  and  the 
beef,  ach!  and  so  hard.  I  haf  pain  in  my  chest — and 
your  puddings — I  cannot  eat  them." 

She  grumbled  continuously,  the  meals  were  made  un- 
appetising with  gross  comment.  She  took  a  daily  consti- 
tutional with  her  pupil  conscientiously,  and  she  found 
fault  all  the  time.  The  park  was  damp,  the  climate  was — 
English.  Goloshed  and  generally  mackintoshed,  her  nose 
red,  cotton  wool  in  her  ears,  she  persistently  grumbled, 
and  Aline  found  her  walks  were  spoiled  for  her  as  her 
meals  had  been.  In  lesson  time  Fraulein  grumbled  also, 
not  without  cause,  at  Aline's  ignorance,  inattention,  stu- 
pidity. She  said  it  was  so  English;  only  in  England 
could  a  girl  of  fifteen,  nearly  sixteen,  know  nothing,  ab- 
solutely nothing.  Ach !  it  was  terrible,  horrible. 

Fraulein  Eckelstein  prided  herself  on  speaking  English 
perfectly;  nevertheless,  her  accent  grated  on  the  child's 
ear.  She  grew  to  hate  it  so  desperately  that  any  other 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  23 

accent,  local,  cockney,  Yorkshire,  grew  soft,  attractive 
to  her,  by  contrast,  and  this  was  another  of  her  misfor- 
tunes. 

It  is  important  to  realise  Fraulein  Eckelstein,  for  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  sympathy  is  necessary  in  reading  Aline's 
history,  and  to  live  with  Fraulein  Eckelstein  was  a  mis- 
fortune, nothing  less.  These  German  governesses,  excel- 
lent creatures,  good  teachers,  soul-deadening  companions, 
press  hardly  on  their  sensitive  pupils,  even  when  tem- 
pered with  mother,  father,  brothers,  sisters,  home;  en- 
dured without  these  mitigations,  they  are  simply  stupi- 
fying;  and  Aline,  if  she  spelt  better,  was  still  less 
intelligent  at  the  end  than  at  the  beginning  of  Fraulein's 
ministrations. 

Until  Fraulein  Eckelstein  came,  she  had  been  a  happy 
child,  if  a  lonely  one.  There  were  butterflies,  flowers,  and 
bees  in  her  garden,  squirrels  in  the  woods,  hares  in  the 
heather.  There  was  everything  a  child  could  want,  ex- 
cept fellow-children.  She  was  ignorant,  perhaps,  but 
sweet  and  wholesome,  loving  nature.  She  grew  depressed 
before  Fraulein  had  been  a  week  in  the  house,  almost 
before  she  had  turned  the  flowers  and  the  birds  out  of  the 
schoolroom,  remnants  of  woodland  rambles,  and  had  had 
white  linoleum  nailed  on  to  the  schoolroom  table,  and 
marked  out  a  daily  course  of  study  on  a  ruled  sheet  of 
paper.  Soon  everything  about  Fraulein  Eckelstein,  her 
German  self-satisfaction,  the  interest  she  took  in  her  own 
health,  her  blatantly  bad  digestion,  her  constant  colds,  her 
ugliness,  everything  about  and  pertaining  to  that  certifi- 
cated treasure,  became  alike  intolerable  to  the  sensitive, 
growing  girl.  A  year  found  her  reading  and  writing  im- 
proved, she  remembered  a  few  dates,  she  could  do  a 
simple,  a  very  simple,  sum  in  arithmetic,  and  she  knew 
a  little,  a  very  little,  German  grammar,  but  it  found  her 
also  grown  out  of  childhood,  not  yet  into  womanhood, 
and  with  her  character  all  awry  and  deformed ;  the  pres- 
sure had  been  in  the  wrong  places  and  the  result  was 
disastrous. 


24  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Aline  became  introspective,  cried  constantly,  had 
spasms  of  acute  self-pity.  She  was  motherless,  her  father 
did  not  love  her,  at  least,  he  did  not  come  to  see  her; 
she  read  his  name  in  the  newspapers,  treasured  the  para- 
graphs about  him,  the  reports  of  his  speeches,  made  a 
cult  of  him,  and  dreamed  constantly  of  emotional  mo- 
ments in  which  he  would  figure.  She  was  very  much 
alone ;  her  distaste  for  her  governess  extended  to  the  way 
she  walked,  the  way  she  ate,  and  sat,  and  spoke,  and 
breathed. 

After  her  sixteenth  birthday  Aline  got  over  her  weep- 
ing and  her  fits  of  melancholy,  nature  reasserted  itself  in 
a  measure.  But  she  never  got  over  her  distaste  for  the 
German  woman,  while  the  image  of  her  father,  which  had 
dominated  her  morbid  period,  had  not  died  out  of  her 
mind. 

Fraulein  Eckelstein,  for  all  her  certificates  and  knowl- 
edge, was  provincial,  plebeian,  narrow-minded,  ill-bred. 
Because  she  was  all  this  and  more,  Aline  spent  no  time 
with  her  that  she  was  not  compelled  to  spend;  and  the 
governess  was  glad  of  many  hours  to  herself.  She  wrote 
long  letters  on  thin  foreign  paper  to  friends,  former 
pupils,  relatives,  long  letters  with  involved  sentences,  and 
verbs  that  played  hide-and-seek,  long,  verbose,  unneces- 
sary letters ;  it  was  her  only  relaxation.  She  thought  it 
literary  and  appropriate,  and  in  a  measure  dignified.  She 
did  not  grumble  in  her  letters;  she  endeavoured  to  im- 
press upon  her  correspondents  the  grandeur  of  her  posi- 
tion. 

While  Fraulein  Eckelstein  wrote  letters,  Aline  was 
either  alone  or  went  for  long  rides  with  old  Sam  Shingles, 
who  had  been  stud-groom  to  Stephen's  father  in  the  days 
when  there  had  been  a  stud,  racehorses,  and  a  training 
stable  at  Hadalstone  Hall,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  that 
had  spelt  Stephen's  ruined  inheritance  and  blasted  name. 
Sam  taught  Aline  to  ride,  he  gave  her  respite  from  Frau- 
lein ;  he  was  part  of  the  tonic  that  cured  her  of  morbid 
weeping.  He  talked  to  her  of  the  good  old  days  when 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  25 

her  grandfather  was  alive,  and  the  Hunt  met  nearly 
every  week  in  the  Hadalstone  woods,  when  the  stables 
were  full  of  young  'uns,  and  there  was  never  a  year  when 
Hadalstone  had  not  a  string  of  horses  at  Doncaster.  He 
had  the  tact  to  omit  the  time  that  came  after.  He  let  Jack 
Hayward's  difficulties,  forgeries,  expiation,  He  in  the 
grave  with  him.  The  old  stud-groom  remembered  noth- 
ing of  his  old  master  but  his  generosity,  and  easy  ways, 
and  the  handsome  face  and  figure  that  had  brought  the 
women  after  him. 

This  was  much  more  interesting  than  French  verbs. 
The  gallops  through  the  woods,  the  whiff  of  fresh  air  in 
her  face  as  she  leaped  gate  or  bar,  the  rise  and  motion  of 
the  animal  beneath  her,  were  rest  and  refreshment  and 
new  life  after  Fraulein  and  the  stuffy,  overheated  rooms. 
And  she  liked  hearing  about  her  grandfather. 

It  was  all  right  as  long  as  Sam  Shingles  rode  with  her ; 
she  got  nothing  but  good  from  her  two  hours'  canter,  air, 
and  exercise.  She  was  stupid  and  dull  with  Fraulein; 
for  her  taste  was  violated,  the  air  was  vitiated,  and  the 
guttural  German  voice  outraged  her  delicate  Saxon  ears. 
She  learned  as  little  as  she  possibly  could,  and,  if  Frau- 
lein Eckel  stein  had  not  been  a  truly  indefatigable  teacher, 
even  that  little  would  have  been  less. 

So  Aline  talked  to  her  maid,  played  sometimes  with 
the  vicarage  babies,  and  envied  them  their  father,  who 
kissed,  and  dandled,  and  spoiled  them ;  she  was  consoled 
by  the  cheery  doctor  for  her  enforced  hours  with  Frau- 
lein, and,  until  she  was  approaching  her  seventeenth  year, 
she  lived  practically  without  further  companionship.  In 
letters,  and  during  rare  visits,  Constantia  excused 
Stephen  for  his  apparent  neglect :  "  his  country  claimed 
him,"  she  said.  But  Aline  felt  he  was  the  one  thing  in 
the  world  that  belonged  to  her,  and  she  longed  always 
that  he  should  love  her,  write  to  her,  notice  her,  come  to 
her.  She  was  lonely  in  her  seventeenth  year ;  there  were 
gardens  and  woods,  and  wide  stretches  of  moorland,  but 
she  was  a  girl-child,  and  these  were  not  enough.  Aunt 


26  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Constantia  was  vague  and  indefinite  as  to  when  she  or  her 
father  would  come ;  she  forgot  to  hold  out  prospects  of 
Aline  coming  to  them.  The  family  visitors  were  few  and 
far  between.  The  Duchess's  appearance  remained  a 
unique  visitation,  and  Aunt  Constantia  promised  Aline  no 
immediate  change.  She  was  to  be  "  finished."  At  eigh- 
teen, or  perhaps  a  little  later,  the  Duchess  would  present 
her.  In  the  meantime,  she  was  told  to  work  hard  at  her 
studies  with  Fraulein. 

It  was  a  critical  moment  for  Jack  Forrest  to  appear 
upon  the  scene.  Aline,  in  revolt  at  Racine  with  a  German 
accent,  and  Schiller  in  a  voice  like  a  nutmeg-grater,  had 
begun  to  read  penny  novelettes,  threepenny  gutter  fiction, 
Family  Herald  Supplements,  borrowed  from  the  silly, 
sentimental  London  servant  who  acted  as  maid  to  her. 
She  grew  as  romantic  as  Miss  Clare,  and  she  longed  for 
adventures.  She  longed  for  adventures!  And  fate,  or 
Stephen,  or  perhaps  an  unfortunately  wise  decision  of  the 
Jockey  Club,  sent  Jack  Forrest  to  Hadalstone. 

There  was  nothing  whatever  attractive  about  Jack  For- 
rest; he  was  a  hard-featured,  dun-coloured,  under-sized 
man  of  about  thirty,  who  chewed  a  straw,  and  wore  high 
collars,  and  looked  like  a  prematurely  decayed  stable-boy. 
Even  Aline,  keen  for  novelty  and  experience  and  perhaps 
emotion,  was  disappointed  in  his  appearance  the  first 
time  she  saw  him.  Jane  had  talked  about  his  coming  in 
mysterious  undertones  as  she  brushed  that  golden  hair 
at  night.  Aline  had  listened  open-eared;  there  was  a 
mystery,  and  Jack  Forrest  was  the  hero  of  it.  Her  inter- 
est was  quickly  aroused,  her  feelings  no  less  quickly  ex- 
cited. Jane  was  a  comparatively  newcomer  at  Hadal- 
stone, but  Mrs.  Dean  had  been  there  in  the  time  of 
Stephen's  father  and  mother.  Aline  resorted  to  Mrs. 
Dean  for  further  information.  The  housekeeper's  room 
had  been  the  harbour  of  refuge  for  Aline  ever  since  her 
babyhood;  there  jam  was  to  be  found,  and  sweet  cake, 
and  gossip  about  the  glory  of  the  house  in  those  bad  old, 
good  old,  days,  when  Mrs.  Dean  and  Sam  Shingles  were 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  27 

hardly  middle-aged,  and  that  fine,  dashing,  rakish  grand- 
father of  Aline's  was  alive. 

Mrs.  Dean  was  in  her  dotage,  garrulous,  indiscreet,  in 
the  first  stage  of  senile  decay,  but  still  she  alluded  and 
maudled,  instead  of  speaking  out.  Aline  was  a  child  with 
her  head  full  of  impossible,  unnatural,  kitchen-maid  ro- 
mances, and  the  romance  of  Jack  Forrest  seemed  to  touch 
her  nearly.  She  misunderstood  it,  of  course.  The  sor- 
did intrigue  between  Mrs.  Dean's  daughter,  who  had  been 
housemaid  at  the  Hall,  and  that  wretched  debauchee, 
Stephen's  father,  was  something  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  her  to  understand.  And  Mrs.  Dean,  with  all 
her  garrulousness,  was  careful  not  to  mention  her  own 
relationship  to  the  newcomer.  All  that  Aline  took  in  was 
that  Jack  Forrest  was  an  unacknowledged  son  of  the 
House ;  that  he  had  been  neglected,  sent  away  from 
Hadalstone,  and  his  return  in  a  menial  capacity  was  a 
tardy  act  of  reparation  of  her  father's  doing.  She  had 
seen  little,  known  little  of  her  father;  she  hardly  realised 
of  what  she  suspected  him.  She  was  under  the  spell  of 
the  penny  novelette.  "  An  unacknowledged  son  of  the 
House"  was  the  romantic  euphemism  with  which  she 
clothed  the  ci-devant  stable-boy.  And  the  House,  the 
family,  her  grandfather,  were  all  of  extraordinary  impor- 
tance to  her. 

But  she  was  very  disappointed  with  Jack  Forrest's  ap- 
pearance the  first  day  he  came  to  Hadalstone.  He  was 
not  a  romantic  figure  in  a  Newmarket  coat,  unnaturally 
light,  and  a  billycock  hat  unnaturally  curved. 

Here  is  the  history  of  his  coming  to  Hadalstone. 

About  the  time  that  Sam  Shingles  ceased  to  be  the 
nominal  head  of  the  defunct  Hadalstone  stables,  Stephen, 
busy  and  overworked  in  London,  received  an  ill-written, 
indifferently  spelt,  communication  that  he  showed  to  his 
cousin.  He  took  the  letter  to  the  Marquis  and  asked, 
"  Is  it  true  ?  Do  you  think  it  is  true  ?"  For  Stephen, 
although  he  knew  so  well  that  his  father  had  been  a  black- 
guard, knew  little  of  details,  and  nothing  of  the  house- 


28  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

maid  and  her  child.  The  present  Marquis  of  Jevington 
had  been  a  man,  and  in  his  father's  confidence,  when 
Stephen  was  a  little  boy  at  school. 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?"  answered  the  other  carelessly, 
having  skimmed  the  letter.  "  The  fellow  says  he  is  your 
father's  son ;  he  asks  for  help  on  that  ground.  It  is  very 
likely  true,"  he  added  drily.  "  Surely  it  is  not  a  great 
shock  to  you  that  it  is  very  likely  true." 

"  No,"  Stephen  answered,  not  letting  his  cousin  see  he 
was  stung,  hiding  his  sensitiveness,  his  wounds  that  never 
healed ;  "  it  is  not  a  great  shock  that  my  father  had  an 
illegitimate  son.  But  this  fellow  is  a  peculiarly  notorious 
blackguard,"  he  went  on,  after  just  a  little  pause  to 
take  breath.  For  it  hurt,  it  always  hurt,  that  his  father 
had  been — himself.  "  He  has  just  been  warned  off  the 
turf." 

"  If  he  had  written  you  before,  you  might  have  ar- 
ranged something  with  the  Club?" 

"  It  is  a  particularly  bad  case.  He  pulled  the  beast  up 
just  under  the  judge's  nose.  Not  the  first  time  either; 
I  heard  all  about  it  from  John." 

John  was  the  eldest  son  of  the  Marquis,  in  age 
Stephen's  contemporary ;  he  was  absorbed  in  racing,  and 
one  of  the  Stewards  of  the  Jockey  Club. 

"  What  does  he  want  you  to  do  ?" 

"  He  wants  me  to  lend  him  some  money.  £1000  is  the 
sum  he  names ;  an  insolent  letter.  There  is  no  doubt  his 
mother  was  in  service  at  Hadalstone;  I  remember  her 
faintly." 

"  You  can't  let  him  starve ;  you  must  find  something 
for  him." 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  could  employ  him  at  Cul- 
pepper.  I  asked  John,  but  John  says  he  won't  touch  him ; 
he's  a  thorough  scoundrel." 

"  No,  I  can't  do  anything ;  I  have  too  many  claims  on 
me.  Send  him  back  to  Hadalstone;  that's  where  his 
mother  came  from.  Make  him  groom,  gamekeeper,  or 
steward ;  surely  you  can  find  some  sort  of  sinecure  that 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  29 

will  enable  you  to  give  him  a  small  income  without  ap- 
pearing to  be  blackmailed.  He  certainly  could  not  do  any 
harm  at  Hadalstone." 

The  sapient  Marquis  thought  he  could  not  do  any 
harm,  and  in  the  end  Stephen  offered  him  Sam  Shingle's 
sinecure.  It  was  a  curious,  unfortunate,  almost  dramatic 
coincidence  that  the  only  post  at  Hadalstone  into  which 
Jack  Forrest  could  fit  with  any  approach  to  suitability 
should  have  been  vacant  at  this  moment.  Jack  Forrest 
accepted  it,  since  nothing  better  offered.  He  would  see 
his  grandmother;  he  had  a  sneaking  respect  for  her,  a 
respect  his  mother  had  forfeited  many  years  ago,  before 
she  disappeared  in  the  vortex  of  Piccadilly  Circus.  His 
mother  had  told  him  the  true  story  of  the  trick  she  had 
played  on  her  old  master  at  Hadalstone,  and  twitted  him 
with  his  likeness  to  his  real  father,  a  stable-boy,  whose 
brief  stay  at  the  Hall  had  been  terminated  by  a  kick  from 
a  restive  racehorse.  The  truth  had  been  kept  from  the 
respectable  Mrs.  Dean ;  the  shock  of  her  daughter's  be- 
haviour had  been  softened  to  her  by  the  Master's  gener- 
osity. The  girl  flaunted  her  shame  in  the  village  until 
Stephen's  father  died,  and  her  boy  had  been  a  familiar  at 
the  Hall  in  those  days,  and  was  constantly  in  and  out  of 
that  same  housekeeper's  room  where  Aline  now  made  her- 
self at  home. 

It  was  natural  that  on  his  return  to  Hadalstone,  after 
nearly  eighteen  years  hard-lived  disreputable  years,  Jack 
Forrest  should  seek  out  his  grandmother,  natural,  too, 
that  Aline  should  see  him  there;  but  all  that  followed 
was  unnatural,  horrible,  almost  incredible. 

The  mystery  about  Jack  Forrest,  that  hint  and  innu- 
endo created,  was,  in  the  face  of  Aline's  ignorance  and 
innocence,  responsible  for  her  interest  in  him.  She  could 
not  but  take  an  interest  in  him  since  she  had  gathered, 
easily,  that  he  was  a  "  son  of  the  House,"  and  since  the 
House  seemed  to  her  in  her  retired  and  lonely  life  of  such 
paramount  importance.  Jack  Forrest,  the  housekeeper's 
room,  Jane's  hair-brushing  confidences,  were  all  so  much 


30  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

more  vital  than  Fraulein  Eckelstein.  She  began  to  live 
vividly  in  the  romance  she  was  creating. 

Jack  Forrest  looked  better  on  a  horse  than  anywhere 
else.  The  first  time  Aline  had  seen  him  she  had  been 
chilled,  disappointed;  but  in  the  saddle,  his  limited  legs 
in  gaiters,  a  cap  replacing  the  cockney  billy-cock,  and 
gloves  on  the  rough  hands,  it  was  possible,  though  even 
then  it  should  have  been  difficult,  for  the  halo  of  romance 
slowly  to  transfigure  him.  And  riding  with  Aline  was 
the  only  one  of  Sam  Shingle's  duties  that  Forrest  actually 
performed.  They  rode  together  daily.  He  taught  Aline 
a  few  things  about  horses  that  Sam  had  forgotten,  or  had 
never  known ;  he  was  a  man  of  very  few  words,  a  silent 
man  wrho  chewed  rather  than  talked,  but  for  the  moment 
his  few  words  spoke  praise.  He  told  Aline  she  had  the 
makings  of  a  fine  horsewoman,  he  praised  her  courage, 
once  he  praised  her  figure. 

Nobody  suspected  danger ;  it  was  impossible  to  suspect 
the  child,  so  fair,  with  her  proud  carriage,  and  delicate 
high-bred  air,  of  having  anything  in  common  with  the 
ex-jockey.  Mrs.  Dean  and  Jane  had  talked  much  of 
Jack  Forrest  before  he  came.  It  was  dull  in  the  country, 
and  they  had  few  things  to  talk  about,  but,  after  he  came, 
and  he  had  had  tea  once  or  twice  in  the  housekeeper's 
room,  they  left  off  talking  of  him,  or  even  thinking  of 
him.  He  was  one  of  themselves,  and  not  a  bright  one. 
His  habit  of  silence  alienated  them.  He  lived  over  the 
stables  where  Sam  had  lived,  and  his  spare  time  seemed 
to  be  spent  in  the  public-house.  A  boy  brought  Miss 
Aline's  horse  up  to  the  house  every  day,  and  Jack  came 
up  with  it,  mounted  her,  and  they  rode  out  together,  just 
as  it  used  to  be  in  Sam's  time,  only  Sam  used  to  bring  the 
horses  up  himself  without  the  assistance  of  the  stable-boy. 

Together  they  rode  away  from  the  verbs  and  the  trans- 
lations and  Fraulein  Eckelstein.  Jack  Forrest  was  a  man 
of  little  education  and  low  wit,  but  he  knew  how  to  hold 
his  tongue ;  he  had  learned  it  in  the  training  stables.  Into 
this  thin-lipped,  clean-shaven,  silent  man,  then,  with  small 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  31 

eyes  close  together,  and  impenetrable  face,  poor  Aline  read 
an  epitome  of  all  her  novelettes.  He  was  the  rightful 
owner  of  the  Hadalstone  estates,  her  father  was  the 
usurper,  she  ^herself  an  interloper.  If  he  was  silent,  he 
was  thinking  of  his  wrongs ;  if  his  words  were  strange, 
unpicked,  his  accent  unaccustomed,  it  was  their  fault,  the 
Haywards'  fault,  for  neglecting  him  in  his  youth.  She 
was  not  a  clever  girl ;  she  did  not,  as  will  be  seen,  become 
a  wise  woman.  In  her  extreme  youth  and  ignorance,  in 
her  loneliness  and  dislike  of  the  one  companion  with 
whom  she  had  been  provided,  she  was  amenable  to  any 
sort  of  temptation,  exposed  to  any  danger  that  should 
threaten  her.  Rightful  heirs,  unacknowledged  and  de- 
spised, were  common  enough  in  penny  novelettes.  Even 
in  a  book  that  Aunt  Con  had  given  her  was  the  story  of 
a  Scotch  laird  who  posed  as  a  groom  to  win  his  sister's 
love  and  confidence.  Aline's  imagination,  roaming  in 
narrow  limits,  called  Jack  Forrest  Jack  Hayward,  and 
tried  to  see  in  him  a  hero  of  romance. 

It  was  not  entirely  Jack  Forrest's  fault.  He  was  not 
responsible  for  the  muddle-headed  child's  wrong  infor- 
mation, or  wrongly  understood  information.  He  was  not 
the  sort  of  scoundrel  that  he  appeared  to  be  by  what 
followed,  but  he  was  "  dead  broke,"  and  suspended  from 
riding,  and  he  had  a  scheme,  every  broken-down  jockey 
has  a  scheme,  and  it  wanted  money  to  work  it.  Stephen 
had  written  him  a  curt  letter,  and  given  him  the  post  at 
Hadalstone  and  two  pounds  per  week.  The  scheme  or  coup 
was  connected  with  horses  and  faking;  it  could  not  be 
worked  from  Hadalstone.  Forrest  tried  his  grandmother, 
but  she  had  no  savings.  Wages  were  not  high  at  Hadal- 
stone, they  were  not  even  paid  very  regularly ;  and  what 
little  she  had,  had  gone  from  time  to  time  to  that  poor 
painted  woman.  Jack's  mother,  who  walked  the  town, 
until,  five  years  ago,  she  had  walked  into  the  great  Silence. 

And  Aline  threw  herself  at  his  head,  literally  threw 
herself  at  his  head.  He  told  Stephen  so,  in  that  one  inter- 
view he  had  with  him,  that  too  late  interview,  and 


32  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Stephen's  bitter  incredulous  contempt  made  it  seem  ab- 
surd. But  it  was  true.  The  child  had  beautiful  thoughts, 
she  meant  to  give  him  back  the  inheritance  of  which  he 
had  been  robbed.  She  was  always  thinking  of  how  this 
could  be  accomplished.  She  puzzled  over  it,  and  thought 
of  it,  night  and  day.  Wild  schemes  of  appealing  to  her 
father  were  quenched  by  her  limited  knowledge  of  how 
he  stood  in  the  matter.  It  seemed  as  if  Stephen,  having 
been  his  father's  heir,  must  be  concerned  in  the  wrong 
that  had  been  done  to  Forrest.  She  was  hazy  about  the 
story,  and  thought  of  the  broken  jockey  as  "  Cousin  Jack." 
Her  heart  beat  high  when  the  right  thought  came  to  her 
some  few  weeks  after  he  had  arrived  at  Hadalstone. 
There  was  a  wonderful  flush  in  her  peach-like  skin,  a 
brightness  in  her  blue  eyes,  when  riding  with  him  on  the 
day  that  the  light  had  dawned.  She  turned  in  her  saddle 
quickly,  as  the  great  thought  took  shape,  and  asked  him : 

"  Are  you  married ;   have  you  ever  been  married  ?" 

The  man  was  low  class,  but  sharp  enough.  On  the 
answer  he  gave  her  she  slowly,  with  heightening  flush 
and  brightening  eye,  told  him  her  fine  thoughts.  Often, 
since  he  had  discovered  her  misinformation,  they  had  dis- 
cussed his  "  wrongs ;"  and  he  followed  her  meaning 
quickly  now. 

"  By  Gad !  she's  not  a  bad  bit  of  flesh,  and  he'd  have 
to  fork  out  then,"  was  his  unspoken  answer.  And  then 
he  played  his  easy  part.  He  told  her  he  was  not  married, 
and  he  would  like  well  enough  to  marry  her.  His  part 
was  easy  to  play,  because  Aline  gave  him  all  the  cues. 
iHe  had  not  quite  understood  the  "  tack"  she  was  on  at 
first,  but  she  talked  more  and  more  freely  to  him,  and  he 
followed  where  she  led.  Very  little  was  required  of  him. 
The  horrible  sacrifice  seemed  the  simplest  matter  to  Aline. 
She  promised  to  marry  him  almost  before  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  the  "  spec"  was  a  sure  one. 

"  You'd  better  not  mention  anything  up  there,"  he  said. 
Up  there,  accentuated  with  a  jerk  of  the  head,  meant  the 
Hall. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  33 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  answered  quickly ;  "  we  won't 
say  a  word  until  afterwards." 

"After  we're  spliced,  you  mean?" 

"  When  I  can  go  to  my  father." 

"  I'll  have  the  banns  called  at  the  next  village,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  out  of  his  little  close-set  eyes  with  some- 
thing of  interest.  She  had,  to  use  his  own  vernacular, 
"  snapt  him  up  at  a  word."  He  did  not  realise  the  weeks 
of  misguided  thought  that  had  led  up  to  that  moment. 

"  In  the  books  they  always  have  a  special  licence." 

"  By  Jove !  she's  goin'  it,"  was  the  unspoken  comment ; 
but  he  said,  "  Yes,  I  know ;  but  a  special  licence  costs 
money,  and " 

She  interrupted  him  hastily. 

"  Oh !  I've  got  plenty,  ever  so  much,  in  the  bank  and 
at  home.  My  father  always  sends  me  money,  and  I  never 
spend  any." 

They  rode  on  together  in  the  spring,  the  hidden  sun 
making  warm  and  sweet  the  perfumed  air.  Jack  calcu- 
lated that  Stephen  could  not  give  him  less  than  £1000, 
and  the  coup  could  be  brought  off  with  half.  Aline  was 
excited,  not  at  all  frightened  at  what  she  had  done,  but 
proud  of  herself  rather.  She  talked  her  thoughts  aloud. 

"  I  shall  go  to  my  father  afterwards."  She  had  a 
strange  picture  of  her  father  in  her  mind,  so  had  no  fear 
of  the  quiet  sarcasm  that  might  have  met  her.  "  I  shall 
say  to  him :  '  now  you  may  embrace  me,  father,  now  you 
may  look  with  pleasure  on  your  child;  she  has  righted 
the  wrong  you  have  done/  >: 

She  broke  off  from  her  grandiloquent  speech,  and  said, 
with  a  touch  of  wistfulness  in  the  blue  eyes  which  she 
turned  toward  Forrest: 

"  He  has  never  cared  for  me,  or  for  Hadalstone.  I 
think  it  must  have  been  because  of  you.  I  think  he  must 
have  felt  remorse,  and  here  it  haunted  him  most." 

Jack  nodded,  and  went  on  with  his  straw. 

"  You'll  keep  it  quiet,"  he  said. 

"  I  must  not  say  to  you,  '  on  the  honour  of  a  Hayward,' 

3 


34  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

but,  on  my  honour,"  she  answered,  and  rode  home,  big 
with  her  secret,  proud,  excited.  She  was  a  child,  play- 
ing at  being  the  heroine  of  one  of  the  penny  novelettes. 
She  was  very  happy  in  her  play.  Forrest  hardly  figured 
at  all  in  his  proper  person ;  he  was  "  the  rightful  heir," 
that  was  all. 

Nobody  noted  the  excitement,  the  delight,  under  which 
she  lived  during  those  few  days  whilst  the  man  was  in 
London  getting  the  licence.  She  was  playing  at  make- 
believe,  as  happy  children  always  play,  but  was  not,  un- 
happily, playing,  as  they  do,  on  equal  terms;  and  the 
play  turned  to  earnest  before  fear  dawned.  She  might 
have  told  Jane,  might  have  confided  in  her  maid;  they 
did  that  sometimes  in  books.  But  Jane  failed  her  at  the 
critical  moment.  Jane  was  sulky  and  silent  because  her 
young  man  (he  was  the  butler,  and  at  least  sixty)  had 
toyed  with  the  kitchenmaid.  She  brushed  Aline's  hair 
and  put  her  to  bed,  but  she  did  not  talk,  she  was  too 
full  of  her  own  trouble,  and  Mrs.  Dean  had  gone  down 
another  step  on  the  road  to  senility,  so  Aline  had  no  con- 
fidante. 

Fraulein  sat  in  the  schoolroom  through  the  spring  day, 
with  the  exhilarating  sun  shining  on  the  windows,  trees 
budding,  birds  singing,  and  she  set  the  child  abominable 
tasks  of  translating  long,  involved,  verbless  German  sen- 
tences. She  said  Aline  was  more  inattentive  than  ever. 
They  had  been  long  days  for  Aline,  without  even  a  ride 
to  which  she  could  look  forward;  for  Forrest  was  away, 
and  Fraulein  said  she  must  not  ride.  It  was  "  pas  gentil" 
— "  pas  gentil"  with  a  German  accent.  Long,  restless, 
interminable  days!  Aline  was  so  excited  that  she  coul-1 
not  listen  or  learn,  or  even  pretend  to;  she  was  living 
in  a  world  of  ruined  castles  and  wicked  earls  and  dis- 
guised heirs.  It  was  agony  to  her  to  sit  still  and  be 
nagged  about  German  verbs.  She  cried  over  her  lessons, 
angry  tears,  but  Fraulein  went  on  grinding,  and  said  she 
was  "  unverschamt."  She  began  to  count  the  hours 
which  must  elapse  before  she  could  get  rid  of  Fraulein, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  35 

began  to  count  the  hours  when,  through  Jack  Forrest,  she 
should  emancipate  herself  from  German  verbs  and  ac- 
cents. 

On  the  very  last  day  of  all,  Fraulein  made  her  put  "  Die 
Glocke"  into  English  verse.  Not  a  word  of  it  did  she 
understand  in  English  or  in  German.  Her  brain  would 
not  work.  She  rebelled,  flung  her  book  on  the  ground, 
she  would  not,  could  not,  learn  any  more,  she  said.  Her 
head  was  aching,  she  cried  in  her  unrest  and  excitement, 
and  threw  her  book  on  the  floor,  when  nothing  would 
come  of — 

"  Ob  das  Sprode  mit  dem  Weichen 
Sich  vereint  zum  guten  Zeichen" 

but 

"  If  the  mass  well  blended  be 
Then  will  the  bell  sound  properly." 

Fraulein  with  gutteral  indignation  ordered  her  to  her 
room ;  and  Aline  rushed  away  in  a  frenzy  of  desire  to 
tell  her  that  by  to-morrow  she  would  be  away  from  her 
and  free.  Free!  that  was  what  the  girl  thought  when 
she  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

Fraulein  Eckelstein  took  out  her  blotter  and  began  to 
write  letters.  The  scene  had  agitated  her,  she  thought  it 
might  bring  on  her  neuralgia,  it  was  necessary  not  to  be 
in  arrears  with  her  correspondence. 

Aline  did  not  go  to  her  room.  She  went  instead  into 
the  garden,  where  the  scents  soothed  her,  and  the  wind 
kissed  her  hot  cheeks ;  there  were  buds  on  the  rose-trees, 
green  leaves  and  green  blossoming  on  the  lilac,  the  birds 
cooed  to  each  other  as  they  paired.  She  was  soothed  and 
calmed. 

To-morrow  was  to  be  her  wedding-day.  It  was  Fri- 
day; Forrest  had  been  away  since  Sunday.  They  were 
to  meet  by  the  coppice  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  after 
breakfast,  just  before  lessons, — Aline  had  arranged  that. 
They  were  to  go  to  the  next  parish  by  train,  John  had 


36  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

arranged  that.  She  knew  all  the  programme,  she  was 
not  frightened,  she  had  no  misgivings ;  the  week  had 
been  long,  too  long.  The  dramatic  moment,  the  moment 
she  was  waiting  for,  was  when  she  should  go  to  her 
father,  holding  her  husband  by  the  hand,  and  should  say, 
"  I  have  Righted  the  Wrong," — with  capital  letters.  She 
dwelt  on  that  moment  all  the  time.  Her  father,  not  Jack 
Forrest,  was  prominent  in  her  mind,  and  had  been,  though 
she  scarcely  knew  it,  all  the  time.  Stephen,  the  politician, 
with  his  cynical  face  and  proud  position  (to  be  an  Under- 
secretary of  State  seemed  a  proud  position  to  Aline),  who 
who  had  been  so  little  of  a  father  to  her;  it  was  round 
him  her  young  thoughts  naturally  clustered. 

She  had  been  wonderfully  happy  in  her  newly  discov- 
ered play,  in  having  found  out  why  Stephen  had  neglected 
her  and  Hadalstone.  She  did  not,  of  course,  realise  her 
mental  attitude,  but  the  image  of  her  father,  seen  through 
Aunt  Constantia's  adoring  eyes,  was  mirrored  in  the  ether 
of  her  dawning  soul.  All  the  rest  was  play-acting.  She 
was  mentally  dressed  up  and  performing  a  part,  the  Mar- 
ried Woman,  the  Saviour  of  the  Family,  the  Heroine; 
of  Jack  Forrest,  of  her  playmate,  in  truth,  she  thought  but 
little.  Her  father  was  the  chief  of  her  romance.  Patri- 
cian and  patriot,  his  name  spelt  to  her  the  definition  of  the 
Ideal,  and  she  longed,  with  that  curious  intense  longing 
unloved  children  have  for  love,  that  her  hero  should  love, 
notice,  approve  her. 

She  was  going  to  marry  Jack  Forest  to  free  her  father 
from  remorse,  to  make  him  love  her,  and  tell  her  she  had 
done  well. 

That  night,  the  night  before  the  wedding,  she  sat  by 
the  window.  A  dark  night  it  was,  the  moon  only  edging 
the  clouds,  with  no  stars  dawning  through  their  darkness, 
nor  in  the  grey  depths  behind  them,  all  her  thoughts  were 
of  Stephen  and  what  she  would  say  to  him.  She  thought 
of  what  she  would  say,  perhaps,  more  than  of  what  he 
would  answer.  But  she  imagined  he  would  fold  her  in 
his  arms,  and  kiss  her;  she  blushed  in  the  darkness  at 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  37 

the  idea  of  the  kiss  her  father  would  give  her.  These 
were  her  thoughts  on  the  eve  of  her  wedding. 

She  went  to  bed  with  that  blush  on  her  young  cheeks, 
and  a  tremulous,  happy  smile  on  her  lips.  She  had  for- 
gotten all  about  Forrest,  except  that  she  would  take  his 
hand  and  lead  him  to  her  father.  She  slept  the  sweet 
untroubled  sleep  of  childhood,  although  in  the  morning 
she  was  going  to  marry  Jack  Forest,  and  she  had  never 
so  much  as  touched  his  ungloved  hand. 

If  ignorance,  downright  abysmal  ignorance,  of  any- 
thing in  the  world  but  how  to  do  sums  badly  and  German 
exercises  worse,  constituted  innocence,  then  was  Aline 
Alexandra  Victoria  the  most  innocent  of  children,  and, 
if  such  innocence  was  what  Constantia  thought  desirable, 
then  was  she  justified  in  her  avoidance  of  boarding- 
schools. 

But  in  such  case,  when  we  pray,  those  of  us  who  do 
pray  for  our  babies,  that  they  should  "  keep  innocency," 
is  it  a  merciful  God  who  leaves  our  prayers  so  oft  un- 
answered ? 


CHAPTER  THREE 


ALINE  ALEXANDRA  VICTORIA  HAYWARD  married  Jack 
Forrest  at  Little  Hempstead,  next  parish  to  Hadalstone. 
She  was  a  month  short  of  seventeen  years  old.  Forrest 
had  procured  a  special  licence.  There  was  not  the  slight- 
est difficulty  about  getting  the  ceremony  performed.  The 
bleer-eyed  country  parson,  hanging,  on  to  his  stipend 
twenty  years  after  his  capacity  for  earning  it  was  ex- 
hausted, made  them  man  and  wife  without  comment, 
thought  or  spoken.  He  hurried  over  the  beautiful  words, 
mumbling  them  with  unseemly  haste.  His  comfortable 
library  chair  called  to  him;  he  was  back  in  it,  and  fast 
asleep  before  Aline  had  done  more  than  realise  that,  when 
Jack  Forrest  took  the  liberty  of  kissing  her,  he  smelt  of 
tobacco  and  made  her  feel  sick.  This  was  when  she  had 
been  married  an  hour. 

The  story  this  book  has  to  tell  is  not  the  story  of  the 
married  life  of  Aline  and  Jack  Forrest.  A  week  of  it,  told 
truly,  as  it  dare  not,  and  must  not,  be  told,  might  be 
trusted  to  destroy  the  dangerous  germ  of  romance  in 
some  girl-reader's  heart,  and  set  her  mending  stockings, 
or  even  sweeping  floors,  with  trembling  thankfulness  for 
an  employment,  independent  and  solitary. 

Impatience  at  Fraulein  Eckelstein,  sentimental  dream- 
ing over  her  father's  personality,  and  the  excitement  pro- 
vided by  kitchen  literature,  were  all  Aline  knew  of  emo- 
tion at  the  end  of  May.  Before  the  beginning  of  June, 
she  had  learnt  terror,  pain,  disgust,  a  horrible  self-loath- 
ing, and  shame  in  its  most  degrading  form.  She  cried 
nearly  all  the  week,  not  the  light  pasionate  tears  of  child- 
hood, but  the  bitter  ones  of  a  miserable  dawning  woman- 
hood. She  was  sick  several  times,  she  had  fits  of  shud- 
38 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  39 

dering  when  the  jockey  came  near  her ;  she  changed  from 
a  pretty  child,  with  her  proud  little  head  in  the  air,  and 
her  blue  eyes  bright  and  sparkling,  into  a  white-faced 
fevered  girl,  who  looked  as  if  she  had  just  come  out  of  a 
hospital  ward,  and  ought  to  be  back  in  it. 

That  was  the  condition  in  which  Stephen  found  her 
after  she  had  enjoyed  the  title  of  married  woman  a  little 
over  a  week. 

It  was  not  entirely  Jack's  fault.  He  had  not  been  in- 
tentionally unkind,  or  callous,  or  brutal.  He  was  not 
wrong  in  objecting  to  Aline  going  off  to  find  her  father 
immediately  after  her  marriage.  He  recognised  what  an 
absurdity  any  claim  to  the  Hadalstone  estates,  or  the  Hay- 
ward  honours  would  be.  He  did  not  tell  Aline  this, 
which  was  considerate  of  him  ;  but  he  told  her  that  Hadal- 
stone was  mortgaged  up  to  the  hilt,  and  wasn't  worth 
"  a  two-penny  damn" ;  he  also  informed  her  that  illegiti- 
macy was  a  bar  to  succession,  and  explained  to  her  what 
illegitimacy  meant.  He  was  a  man  of  few  words,  but 
now  they  were  coarse  ones. 

He  went  to  the  public-house,  or  inn,  at  Little  Hemp- 
stead  for  the  honeymoon,  took  a  bedroom  over  the  bar, 
and  used  the  bar  parlour  for  sitting-room.  They  had  it 
to  themselves,  with  its  white  cotton  antimacassars,  its 
smell  of  stale  beer,  its  engravings  of  the  Queen  and  the 
Prince  Consort  behind  fly-blown  glass  in  early  Victorian 
wooden  frames,  its  stuffed  fish  in  cases,  its  dirty  cruet- 
stand  on  the  mean  mahogany  chiffonier.  Here  he  smoked 
his  pipes,  and  drank  his  gin,  and  spelt  out  the  sporting 
papers.  He  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind ;  he  swore,  under 
his  breath  only,  that,  for  a  miserable,  puling,  white-livered 
wench  as  he  ever  saw,  commend  him  to  the  girl  he  had 
married. 

From  cursing  Aline  to  himself  to  cursing  her  openly 
was  an  easy  transition. 

There  is  little  doubt  that,  if  his  marriage  had  lasted 
another  week,  he  would  have  thrown  things  at  her  when 
she  sat  on  the  sofa,  with  frightened  eyes  in  white  face, 


40  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

staring  at  him  as  if  she  were  magnetised,  and  alternating 
this  with  fits  of  wild  sobbing  and  hysteric  shudders  of 
repulsion.  A  "  damned  good  hiding,"  which  was  already 
simmering  in  his  mind,  would  have  followed  in  due 
course;  after  which  she  might  have  grown  acclimatised 
and  settled  down,  bruised  and  battered  morally  and  physi- 
cally, until  she  was  soft  enough  to  be  moulded  into  the 
shape  of  the  life  that  lay  before  her.  For  she  was  barely 
seventeen,  malleable,  the  daughter  of  first  cousins — a  de- 
cadent by  inheritance. 

The  Honourable  Stephen  intervened,  however.  Dimin- 
ishing majorities,  difficulties  in  keeping  the  House  to- 
gether, signs  of  weariness  and  inorganism  in  the  front 
benches,  warned  the  political  prophets  that  a  General 
Election  was  at  hand.  The  Grand  Old  Empire-Breaker 
had  entered  a  larger  kingdom ;  and,  as  Lord  Sarum  and 
the  Marquis  had  jointly  predicted,  his  successor  wielded 
an  uncertain  sceptre.  A  popular  Derby  win  delayed  mat- 
ters a  full  twelvemonth,  but  that  was  not  foreseen  in  the 
early  spring.  Preparations  were  being  made  on  a  large 
scale  for  a  complete  bouleversement  of  the  position.  The 
Opposition  Leader  was  in  request  when  Ministers  had 
to  be  heckled,  or  wavering  constituencies  informed  as  to 
what  should  be  their  future  course;  and  Stephen  Hay- 
ward  was  one  of  his  most  valuable  lieutenants.  The 
Easter  recess  had  been  full  of  stump  oratory.  It  was  on 
a  hurried  visit  to  Grosvenor  Street,  between  instructing 
Huddersfield  and  educating  Fife,  that  Stephen  received 
Aline's  grandiloquent  letter,  written  the  night  before  her 
wedding. 

His  sense  of  humour  almost  overcame  his  paternal  irri- 
tation. She  would  "  right  the  wrong  and  bring  Jack 
Forrest  to  him,  and  together  they  would  throw  themselves 
at  his  feet,"  she  had  written.  It  was  a  long  letter,  very 
grandiloquent,  not  quite  coherent,  indifferently  spelt ;  she 
had  written  it  in  an  excess  of  admiration  at  her  own 
heroine-like  conduct,  and  she  thought  it  quite  magnificent 
in  style  and  phrasing.  Unfortunately  it  was  not  very 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  41 

clear.  Stephen  did  not  really  understand  the  step  she 
contemplated.  He  cursed  Jack  Forrest  and  his  father's 
errant  fancies,  he  meant  to  show  the  letter  to  Constantia 
but  forgot,  he  dictated  a  few  lines  of  brilliant  badinage 
in  reply.  Aline  would  not  have  understood  the  tone  if  she 
had  received  the  letter,  but  of  course  she  never  did  re- 
ceive it,  for  she  had  already  left  the  Hall.  Stephen  for- 
got to  show  the  girl's  letter  to  Constantia  because  he  was 
immersed  in  business. 

It  was  an  anxious,  harassing  time.  He  was  absorbed 
in  business,  making  speeches,  sending  telegrams,  canvas- 
sing for  his  colleagues  with  all  the  energy  of  a  man  who, 
most  valuable  as  a  free  lance,  yet  dreams  fitfully  of  the 
sweets  of  office.  And  the  thirst  for  power  had  grown 
on  him.  When  the  Liberal  Prime  Minister  should  retire 
into  his  well-merited  obscurity,  Stephen's  hour  would 
come,  he  thought.  To  this  end  he  threw  himself  into  one 
bye-electoral  campaign  after  another.  To  this  end  he 
worked  feverishly,  impetuously,  in  the  manner  he  had 
made  his  own.  He  had  forgotten  all  about  Aline  and  her 
letter  before  he  had  finished  dictating  the  reply.  He  had 
barely  an  hour  to  get  through  his  correspondence  and 
catch  the  express  to  Delamere.  There  was  only  a  borough 
election  there,  it  is  true,  but  Mildmay  had  been  beaten 
last  time  by  over  four  hundred  votes.  To  turn  a  Liberal 
majority  of  four  hundred  votes  into  a  Unionist  victory 
just  now  was  not  unworthy  the  effort  even  of  a  Stephen 
Hayward.  Stephen  had  promised  to  speak  for  Mildmay, 
to  explain  the  policy  that  actuated  the  Opposition.  So 
he  hurriedly  dictated  the  answer  to  the  childish  scrawl, 
and  he  meant  to  tell  his  secretary  to  enclose  it  to  Con- 
stantia, who  was  in  Scotland.  He  duly  caught  his  train, 
and  it  was  only  a  week  later  that  he  remembered  anything 
about  Aline  and  what  she  had  written.  He  had  even  for- 
gotten that  he  must  discharge  Forrest.  The  next  time 
the  matter  was  brought  before  him  he  got  it  full  in  his 
face,  like  a  blow. 

He  had  had  a  busy  week  with  Lord  Mildmay,  the  local 


42  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

agent,  and  a  house  full  of  lady  and  gentlemen  canvassers. 
They  had  entertained  the  Primrose  Leaguers,  visited  the 
doctors  and  lawyers  and  clergy  of  the  county,  performed 
all  the  slightly  degrading  social  tricks  that  the  neighbour- 
hood and  the  outlying  parish  expected,  and  to-morrow 
they  hoped  to  reap  the  reward.  To-night  they  had  re- 
turned from  a  meeting  in  the  Town  Hall  only  just  in  time 
to  dress  for  dinner.  Stephen's  letters,  a  pile  of  them, 
were  on  his  dressing-table.  He  would  have  left  them 
until  later,  but,  as  it  happened,  Aline's  childish  hand- 
writing caught  his  eye,  reminding  him  of  something  he 
had  forgotten;  it  was  unusual  for  her  to  write  to  him. 
He  tore  open  the  letter ;  perhaps  he  had  a  presentiment. 
It  was  written  four  days  after  the  wedding,  and  had  fol- 
lowed Stephen  round  the  country.  There  was  no  grand- 
iloquence in  it,  and  it  was  very  short. 

"  DEAR  FATHER, — I  have  married  Mr.  Forrest,  and  he 
won't  let  me  come  to  you.  Do  come  to  me ;  it  was  all  a 
horrid  mistake.  I  wish  I  was  dead.  What  shall  I  do? 

Your  broken-hearted 

ALINE. 

Stephen,  standing  up  in  stiff-fronted  evening  shirt,  his 
tie  not  yet  on,  and  his  valet  waiting  with  his  dress-coat, 
read  the  letter  twice,  and  stood  with  it  in  his  hand. 

His  face  changed,  the  nervous  intellectual  face  grew 
haggard  and  troubled,  the  keenness  went  out  of  it,  the 
eyes  looked  dully  back  into  an  old  trouble,  the  lips  trem- 
bled. At  that  moment  he  did  not  remember  Aline  was 
his  daughter  so  vividly  as  he  remembered  she  was  Jack 
Hayward's  granddaughter ;  that  the  inheritance  his  father 
had  left  him,  flung  its  sinister  bar  across  his  path  at  the 
very  moment  the  way  to  the  goal  seemed  clear.  He 
crushed  the  letter  in  his  hand;  almost  unconsciously  a 
curse  broke  from  him,  stifled  into  a  groan.  His  secre- 
tary's apology  for  not  having  heard  him  distinctly,  the 
man's  attitude,  pen  in  hand,  his  vacant  cough,  however, 
helped  Stephen  to  pull  himself  together  for  the  moment. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  43 

"  That  will  do,"  he  said  abruptly  to  the  valet,  dismissing 
him.  "  Get  on,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Jenkins,  with  the 
next."  He  opened  the  rest  of  the  letters,  dictating  stead- 
ily, finishing  first  his  correspondence,  then  his  toilet.  His 
mind,  that  distraught,  far-seeing  mind  of  his,  was  working 
all  the  time. 

"  Nothing  to  be  done  to-night,  nothing  to  be  done  at 
all ;  mustn't  spoil  the  meeting ;  Mildmay's  chances  are 
improving,  and  it  would  be  a  useful  seat  for  us  to  win.  I 
can't  do  any  good  here  in  the  morning ;  they'll  have  made 
up  their  minds  by  then,  and  to  see  me  driving  about  with 
Mildmay  will  make  no  difference.  I  can  get  from  here 
to  Little  Hempstead.  What  the  deuce  can  her  governess 
have  been  up  to?  Constantia  ought  to  have  saved  me 
this  sort  of  thing,  but  she  would  go  up  to  Scotland  just 
at  the  wrong  time.  I've  half  a  mind  not  to  go  at  all ;  she 
has  made  her  bed,  let  her  lie  on  it.  But  I  must  not  have 
a  scandal,  just  at  this  moment.  The  man's  capable  of 
anything.  I  had  better  see  him.  What  a  fool  the  girl  has 
made  of  herself.  I  suppose  they  only  want  money  from 
me;  God  knows  where  I'm  to  get  it  from.  They  must 
undertake  to  emigrate ;  I  can't  have  a  broken-down  black- 
leg of  a  jockey  calling  me  '  father-in-law.'  Perhaps  it 
can  be  hushed  up.  The  last  thing  one  would  have  ex- 
pected from  a  daughter  of  Angela's,"  and  so  on. 

Not  a  thought  of  pity  for  the  girl,  though  it  was  a 
pitiful  letter  enough.  But  Stephen  was  as  yet  so  de- 
tachedly  a  father  that,  on  his  journey  to  Little  Hempstead 
next  morning,  all  his  thoughts  and  fears  and  annoyances 
were  for  himself  and  the  family,  and,  perhaps,  a  little  for 
the  Party. 

He  thought  he  had  lived  down  Lord  John  Hayward, 
but  the  whole  wretched  story  would  be  raked  up  again. 
It  was  a  tedious  railway  journey,  with  many  stoppages 
and  changes,  drizzling  rain,  and  dilatory  guards  at  ob- 
scure local  stations.  With  damnable  persistency  the 
thought  haunted  him  that,  if  the  Press  got  hold  of  the 
story,  his  father's  name  and  Jack  Forrest's  career  would 


44  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

be  on  every  tongue.  The  wretched  girl !  why,  if  the  man 
was  anything,  he  was  her  uncle.  "  Good  God !  the  thing 
was  not  even  legal !"  he  said  to  himself. 

At  length,  the  train  steamed  into  the  little  station  of 
Little  Hempstead,  with  the  name  stiffly  written  in  white 
stones  set  in  a  border  of  green  plants. 

The  solitary  porter  directed  him  to  the  inn,  "  not  five 
minutes  from  the  station,"  he  said.  Stephen  asked  about 
the  returning  trains;  he  did  not  think  the  task  before 
him,  so  unsavoury,  so  distasteful,  would  take  long.  It 
was  still  raining,  a  gentle  persistent  summer  rain,  a  trifle, 
perhaps,  but  this  added  to  his  annoyance. 

There  was  a  porch  to  the  inn,  through  the  window  on 
the  right  he  could  see  the  labourers  conversing  over  their 
beer.  Their  deep  voices  and  the  fumes  reached  him  where 
he  stood.  The  proprietor  stood  behind  the  bar  in  shirt- 
sleeves. 

"  Is  Mr.  Forrest  within  ?"  Stephen  asked,  his  disgust 
quickening  round  the  lines  of  his  mouth,  and  showing  in 
his  voice. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  think  so,  sir."  The  lessee  of  the  Little 
Hempstead  Arms  had  been  a  butler,  and  knew  a  gentle- 
man when  he  saw  one.  "  Allow  me — through  here ;  first 
door  on  the  left." 

"  Through  here"  was  a  dark  passage  behind  the  bar. 
Stephen's  hat  nearly  touched  the  ceiling.  The  proprietor 
opened  the  door  for  him.  He  did  not  think  he  would 
have  done  so  for  a  visitor  to  Jack  Forrest ;  he  knew  the 
jockey,  and  his  reputation,  but  the  shrinking  bride  he  had 
hardly  seen. 

Stephen  saw  his  daughter  in  the  muggy,  evil-smelling 
parlour,  saw  her  instantly  in  the  corner  of  the  rickety 
horse-hair  sofa.  It  was  one  of  the  moments  when  Forrest 
had  been  explaining  matters  to  her,  and  she  was  staring 
at  him  with  her  terrified  eyes.  All  her  misery  was  ap- 
parent in  those  wide  eyes,  it  showed  too  in  her  cheeks, 
white  and  sunken,  it  quivered  round  her  pale  lips,  and 
trembled  in  her  little  childish  hands,  which  she  clasped 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  45 

and  unclasped  as  she  stared  at  Jack.  He  was  puffing 
aw?/  at  his  pipe. 

"  A  damned  good  hiding,  my  gal,  that's  what  you  want, 
and  I've  half  a  mind " 

Aline  never  took  her  eyes  off  his  face.  She  had  been 
crying  day  and  night  for  hours  at  a  time.  His  voice  hac 
roused  her  from  a  sobbing,  half -stupefied  slumber.  He 
had  had  it  all  his  own  way  with  her,  and  had  let  her 
cry,  but  now  her  miserable  face  had  begun  to  get  on  his 
nerves.  He  culled  a  few  choice  epithets  from  his  stable 
days,  used  a  word  she  had  only  before  heard  applied 
to  Mary  of  England,  and  she  sat  up  and  gazed  at  him 
with  that  look  of  fascinated  terror  which,  together 
with  the  length  of  her  eyelashes,  the  colouring  of  her 
hair  and  her  slender  figure,  arrested  Stephen's  attention 
immediately. 

"  Beautiful !  My  God,  beautiful !"  That  was  what  she 
was,  and  the  very  image  of  his  mother,  his  mother  as  he 
remembered  her  before  he  had  been  sent  to  France.  His 
heart  gave  a  quick  throb.  His  daughter!  why  had  he 
never  realised  it?  For  the  space  of  a  second  after  the 
door  opened  the  jockey  kept  his  seat,  replacing  his  pipe 
in  his  mouth.  Then  Aline  saw  her  father,  half  rose  as  if 
to  go  to  him,  sank  back  on  the  sofa,  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  broke  into  hysterical  sobs. 

"  She's  bin  goin'  on  like  that  for  four  bloomin'  hours," 
said  Forrest,  rising  and  pointing  at  her  with  the  stem  of 
his  pipe.  "  How  would  you  like  it?  I  want  to  know  how 
you'd  like  it."  This  was  his  apology  for  the  arrested 
words  Stephen  had  heard. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  said  Stephen  under  his  breath,  and 
went  over  to  the  girl. 

"  Aline,  look  up,  child ;  speak  to  me."  He  rested  his 
hand  a  moment  on  her  bent  head.  Like  silk,  like  soft, 
abundant  silk,  it  felt  under  his  hand.  She  was  unhappy, 
unhappy  as  his  mother  had  been,  and  how  was  he  better 
than  his  father?  The  twinge  of  remorse,  compunction, 
pity,  that  went  through  him  was  the  birth  of  a  new  emo- 


46  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

tion.  "  Don't  cry,  my  child,"  he  said.  And  the  "  my 
child"  was  as  a  sudden  thrill.  So  slender  she  was  and 
beautiful  and  sad ;  she  was  suddenly  dear  to  him. 

"  Take  me  away ;  take  me  away  from  him,"  she  said, 
and  clung  to  him  with  those  small  childish  hands,  speak- 
ing wildly.  "  Oh,  take  me  away,  father ;  take  me  away 
from  him.  I  want  to  go  away;  I  want  to  die.  Oh, 
father !" 

"  Hush !  hush !"  his  tone  was  strange  to  himself,  his 
voice  soft.  For  in  his  heart  was  that  strange  thrill,  the 
thrill  of  his  fatherhood,  that  overmastered  for  the  mo- 
ment the  politician  in  him,  overbore  the  higher  philosophy, 
and  revealed  a  phase  in  common  humanity  that  touched 
him  poignantly. 

"  Oh,  yes !  you  can  take  her  away  if  you  like :  I  know 
I  should  be  damned  glad  to  get  rid  of  her,"  said  Forrest 
sullenly,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  against  the 
mantelpiece,  and  eyeing  Stephen. 

"  Will  you  take  me  away,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you  ?" 
She  was  clinging  to  her  father  hysterically,  shaking  all 
over,  wild  with  fear  and  hope. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  hush,  it's  all  right ;  be  a  good  girl ;  don't 
cry.  I'll  take  you  away ;  don't  fear." 

This  was  not  what  he  had  expected  or  intended.  He 
was  moved  so  suddenly,  so  completely,  by  her  trembling, 
sweet  lips,  by  the  taper  fingers  of  her  clinging  hands,  that 
he  was  hardly  master  of  himself. 

"  You  damned  scoundrel !"  He  turned  upon  the  man 
with  sudden  fierceness.  Forrest  was  watching  the  pair 
out  of  his  little  closed  eyes,  and  thinking.  "  I'll  take  you 
away,"  said  Stephen  to  the  girl,  in  a  different  tone,  half 
ashamed  of  his  ebullition  of  feeling. 

"  Scoundrel,  or  no,  you  can  only  take  her  away  if  I 
choose ;  she's  my  wife,  you  know,"  Forrest  said.  "  You 
be  careful  with  your  '  scoundrels,'  "  he  grumbled. 

The  girl  shuddered  against  her  father,  and  he  put  his 
arm  around  her.  Then  he  said  again  very  gently,  leaning 
down  so  that  she  could  hear : 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  47 

"  You'd  better  let  me  talk  to  him  alone.  Can't  you 
go  upstairs,  anywhere?" 

"You  won't  go  without  me?"  she  said  agitatedly. 
"You  won't?" 

"  I  won't  move  from  this  room  Until  you  come  down 
again." 

She  had  to  pass  Forrest  to  reach  the  door;  it  was  a 
pitiable  sight. 

"  Half  an  imbecile,  that's  what  she  is,  half  an  imbecile. 
You'd  think  I'd  walloped  the  life  out  of  her,  wouldn't 
you?  I  dare  say  you  do  think  so.  But,  so  help  me  God, 
I've  never  laid  a  hand  on  her,  much  less  a  stick.  Flung 
herself  at  my  very  head,  she  did,  and  now " 

"  Look  here,"  said  Stephen  abruptly,  "  it's  a  question 
of  money  with  you,  I've  no  doubt.  Nobody  knows  of 
this  infernal  marriage,  if  it  is  a  marriage.  What  will 
you  take  to  go  your  way  and  let  her  go  hers,  to  hold 
your  tongue,  and  let  me  see  what  I  can  do  to  annul  the 
whole  business  ?" 

"  Oh !   the  marriage  was  right  enough,  worse  luck." 

Stephen  kept  a  difficult  control  over  himself. 

"  What  will  you  take  ?  that's  the  question ;  what  will 
you  take?" 

"Take  to  let  her  go?" 

"  Yes,  to  let  me  take  her  back,  and  keep  the  matter 
quiet." 

"  Take?  Just  what  I'd  have  took  at  first — a  thousand 
quid.  I  didn't  want  the  girl ;  it  was  her  idea  all  along ; 
but  I  thought  that  would  make  you  fork  out,  and  it  seems 
I  was  right.  Miserable  little  devil !  I'd  give  her  to  you 
for  nothing  if  I  could  afford  it." 

The  two  men  were  in  strong  contrast ;  a  foot  and  a  half 
in  height  between  them,  and  several  centuries  of  culture ; 
yet  the  little  jockey  in  slippers,  without  a  collar,  saw,  no 
less  than  the  other,  the  full  strength  of  his  position. 

"  Not  but  what  I  could  lick  her  into  shape ;  I've  had 
some  skittish  fillies  in  my  time,  and  broke  'em  in." 

"  I   haven't  got  a  thousand  pounds   with  me,"  said 


48  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Stephen  sharply.  "  You  know  what  you've  done  is  ille- 
gal; you'll  have  to  lower  your  terms." 

"  Not  a  penny ;  what  do  you  take  me  for  ?  Legal ! 
you'll  like  to  stand  up  in  court  and  say  I'm  your  brother." 

"  It's  a  lie;  if  I'd  seen  you  before,  I  should  have  known 
it  was  a  lie.  Whatever  my  father  was,  there  is  not  a 
drop  of  his  blood  in  your  miserable  veins ;  I  could  swear 
to  it." 

"  That's  as  it  may  be ;  you'd  have  to  prove  it.  What's 
the  good  of  talking?  You'll  have  to  give  me  the  money." 

"  If  I  do,  will  you  clear  out,  get  out  of  England,  never 
let  me  hear  of  you,  or  see  you  again?" 

"  Well,  I  expect  you'll  hear  of  me.  Jack  Forrest  is 
pretty  well  known,  and  I'm  not  going  to  give  up  riding, 
if  that's  what  you  mean.  But  give  me  the  money,  and 
you  can  do  what  you  like  with  the  girl — there,  isn't  that 
enough  for  you?" 

"  What  guarantee  can  I  have  that  you  won't  blackmail 
me?"  asked  Stephen  irritably,  trying  to  think  where  he 
could  raise  a  thousand  pounds.  He  habitually  spent  about 
four  times  his  income;  there  were  always  a  hundred 
calls  on  his  ready-money,  and  a  chronic  over-draft  at 
his  bank. 

"  That's  not  my  game,"  said  the  jockey,  resuming  his 
seat,  his  misshapen  hands  spread  out  on  his  knees,  and  his 
ferret  face  contemptuous,  "  not  my  game  at  all.  The  girl 
threw  herself  at  my  head.  You  can  take  her  back,  'ush 
it  all  up ;  there's  nobody  need  be  the  wiser.  The  clergy- 
man that  married  us  was  half  asleep,  and  not  a  soul  at 
the  hall  knew  what  was  up.  I  never  was  one  for  women. 
But  I  must  have  the  money.  Why,  man,"  his  nefarious 
scheme  began  working  in  his  head,  and  his  face  bright- 
ened, "  with  a  thousand  pounds,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  can 
do.  I  can  break " 

"  Do !  what  does  it  matter  to  me  what  you  do  with  it  ?" 
the  other  broke  in  impatiently.  "  Will  you  keep  out  of 
my  way  and  the  child's  way?  That  is  all  I  ask  of  you 
now.  That  you'll  do  something  disreputable  goes  with- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  49 

out  saying;  but  I  don't  want  to  be  connected  with  it, 
that's  all.  Will  you  disconnect  yourself  at  once  and  for 
ever  from  me  and  mine  if  I  get  this  thousand  pounds  for 
you?" 

"  And  damned  glad  to  do  it.  Do  you  think  I've  had  a 
pleasant  time  hangin'  round  that  hole  of  a  Hadalstone,  or 
sittin'  up  here  bein'  cried  on?  It  was  none  of  my  doin' 
from  first  to  last.  I  wrote  you  fair  and  square  as  man  to 
man,  asking  you  for  a  thousand  pounds,  and  you  put  me 
off  with  a  letter  that  I  wouldn't  have  flung  at  a  stable-boy, 
and  two  quid  a  week."  The  jockey  felt  he  had  been  in- 
jured. "  Fork  out,  and  that  ends  it ;  it  would  have  ended 
it  before  it  began  if  I  hadn't  been  down  to  my  knuckle 
bones  at  the  time,  and  obliged  to  take  what  I  could  get. 
You'll  have  to  come  to  my  terms  now,  thanks  to  that 
slut,  and  my  price  is  a  thousand  pounds,  and  I  won't  take 
a  bob  less." 

The  irresistible  logic  of  the  situation  was  not  lost  on 
Stephen.  If  he  had  not  seen  Aline  and  remembered  that 
she  was  his  and  Angela's  and  the  family's  generally,  he 
might  have  told  Forrest  to  go  to  the  devil,  and  let  him 
and  his  wife  fight  it  out.  That  is  what  he  had  meant  to 
do,  what  had  been  in  his  mind  in  the  train;  to  promise 
them  an  income  and  ship  them  to  Australia,  seemed 
vaguely  the  aim  of  his  journey.  "  Keep  the  matter  out  of 
the  newspapers,"  was  the  definite  refrain  of  his  thoughts. 
But  matters  had  shaped  differently  under  the  influence 
of  the  girl's  misery  and  beauty,  and  the  strange  thrill  of 
memory  caused  by  her  likeness  to  his  mother. 

He  cut  the  interview  as  short  as  he  could ;  the  atmos- 
phere he  was  in  was  intolerable.  He  promised  all  the 
man  asked ;  it  seemed  to  him  he  had  no  choice,  if  he 
wanted  to  take  Aline  with  him.  He  undertook  to  send 
a  cheque  within  three  days.  At  first,  Forrest  meant  to 
refuse  to  let  the  girl  go  until  he  had  the  money,  but  he 
was  tired  to  death  of  her,  he  had  begun  to  hate  the  very 
sight  of  her,  she  made  him  feel  mad,  and  he  really  did 
not  want  to  try  his  drastic  remedies  if  he  could  "  kick 

4 


50  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

her  out"  instead.  His  "  scheme"  was  much  more  impor- 
tant to  him  than  the  girl,  and,  of  course,  he  realised  he 
had  the  whip-hand  of  the  pair. 

Stephen  found  Aline  outside  the  parlour  door ;  she  had 
been  unable  to  get  further.  All  her  being  trembled  with 
one  question.  "Will  he  let  me  go?"  Her  lips  could 
scarcely  form  the  words. 

"  It  is  all  right,  it  will  be  all  right ;  you  need  never  see 
him  again." 

Stephen  knew  instinctively  the  answer  she  wanted  to 
hear,  he  devoutly  hoped  he  was  justified  and  accurate,  but 
he  feared,  doubted,  thought  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself, 
and  had  opened  the  door  to  endless  annoyance  and  ex- 
actions. The  position  was  forced  on  him,  and  he  accepted 
it,  that  was  all. 

He  telegraphed  to  Constantia,  and  he  took  Aline  to 
London,  to  the  house  in  Grosvenor  Street;  there  was 
room  for  her  there,  after  all,  they  found,  now  that  it  was 
too  late.  Not  governesses  nor  masters  they  wanted  for 
her,  however,  but  doctors  and  a  hospital  nurse  and  all  the 
paraphernalia  of  illness.  Constantia,  who  travelled  from 
Scotland  at  express  speed  in  response  to  her  brother's 
telegram,  found,  instead  of  the  gentle,  affectionate  child 
she  expected  to  see — for  Stephen's  message  only  told  her 
that  Aline  was  in  town  and  wanted  her — a  restless  head, 
on  a  white  pillow,  with  fevered  eyes  and  incoherent 
tongue,  raving  of  unspeakable  things. 

Constantia  went  down  to  the  library  after  her  visit  to 
the  sick-room.  Stephen  was  walking  up  and  down. 

"Well?"  he  asked. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  Steve ;  I  don't  understand." 

In  a  few  short  sentences  he  told  her. 

"  What  is  the  man  like  ?  What  on  earth  is  the  man 
like?" 

"  A  wretched  little  blackguard." 

What  could  they  say  to  each  other,  this  brother  and 
sister,  with  their  father's  history  between  them?  Con- 
stantia had  mothered  the  young  politician,  been  secretary 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  51 

to  the  poor  one,  watched  over  him ;  for  him  she  had  borne 
her  gathering  years  in  maidenliness,  and  grown  concen- 
trate on  Stephen's  career.  They  had  fought  on  uphill 
together;  that  they  never  spoke  together  of  what  made 
the  fight  difficult,  of  what,  even  now,  made  the  ultimate 
issue  doubtful,  left  it  no  less  certain  that  both  of  them 
remembered  constantly.  Now  they  feared  the  world 
would  remember;  they  feared  that  when  the  short  Lib- 
eral day  was  done,  and  Lord  Sarum  came  into  power, 
Lord  Sarum  would  remember.  Miserably,  Stephen 
walked  about  the  room. 

"  A  wretched  little  blackguard,  looks  like  a  stable-boy. 
You  would  not  have  imagined  it  possible." 

"  Couldn't  you  have  sent  them  to  Australia,  and  hushed 
it  up  ?  But,  no,"  she  added  quickly ;  "  I  see  it  would  have 
been  impossible." 

In  the  hearts  of  both  the  thought  lay  heavily,  that, 
perhaps,  they  had  not  done  their  duty  by  the  girl,  and 
both  of  them,  notwithstanding  what  she  had  done,  felt 
tenderly  towards  her.  Compunction  left  them  now,  un- 
ready of  speech  to  each  other  and  without  decision. 

"  Do  you  blame  me,  Steve  ?"  said  Con  unsteadily,  after 
a  pause. 

"  Not  more  than  I  blame  myself,"  he  answered  impa- 
tiently ;  "  no,  of  course  not." 

"  Fraulein  ?" 

"  She  tells  me  Fraulein  knew  nothing;  nobody  knew 
anything." 

"  If  it  is  possible— 

"  Possible,  or  not  possible,  we  are  bound  to  try " 

'  To  hush  it  up  ?"   She  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"  To  keep  it  quiet,  at  least,  until  after  the  General  Elec- 
tion. What  a  brute  I  am!  After  all,  even  now  I  am 
thinking  more  of  the  elections  than  of  the  child.  That's 

been  the  mischief "  Hurriedly  he  walked  up  and 

down,  and  the  short  sentences  fell  from  him  in  jets. 
"  Myself  and  the  party ;  myself  first,  I  suppose  —  the 
country,  perhaps,  yes,  certainly  the  country,  but  myself 


52  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

with  it,  always  myself.  I  suppose  that  was  at  the  root  of 
our  father's  life  too — utter  selfishness." 

"  Stephen,"  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  "  don't — 
don't  blame  yourself.  I  cannot  bear  it ;  if  there  has  been 
neglect,  it  has  been  my  neglect.  You  left  it  to  me;  I 
thought  I  had  done  what  was  necessary." 

"  No,"  he  shook  off  her  hand,  and  the  comfort  she 
wanted  to  give  him.  "  You  would  have  brought  her  up 
here  two  years  ago.  It  was  I  who  would  not  have  it. 
I  feared  she  would  practise  her  scales!  Good  God!  if 
I'd  only  let  her  practise  her  scales  over  my  head." 

So  Stephen  talked,  for  his  daughter,  bearing  the  stamp 
of  his  unhappy  mother  in  her  young  unhappy  face,  had 
forced  a  sudden  way  into  his  heart,  and  made  it  sore. 
"  She  is  such  a  child,  such  a  baby — we  have  let  her  fall 
into  such  a  morass." 

"  You  are  going  to  try  and  pull  her  out,  you  are  going 
to  fight  for  her  ?"  she  said  quickly. 

"  I  am  going  to  do  my  best.  I  am  going  to  get  her 
release  from  that  scoundrel  if  it  costs  me  my  last  penny— 
and  my  name." 

"  No,  no !  Stephen,"  she  cried.  "  I  couldn't  bear  that. 
You  will  hush  it  up,  pay  him  anything,  you  won't  imperil 
your  position." 

Wild  thoughts  of  resigning,  of  throwing  up  his  posi- 
tion, of  retiring  into  private  life,  had  come  to  him  in  the 
gloom  of  that  evening.  But  Con's  distress,  Con's  appeal, 
showed  him  the  folly  of  any  precipitate  action.  If  they 
could  keep  it  quiet,  this  desperate,  disgraceful  marriage, 
and  still  save  the  child  the  consequences  of  her  folly,  they 
would  do  so.  That  was  the  possibility,  the  one  hope  to 
which  they  clung  after  their  hour's  talk.  They  must  face 
the  certainty  of  a  perpetual  blackmail,  if,  by  submitting  to 
it,  they  could  guard  the  girl's  secret,  their  own  secret. 
This  was  their  decision. 

That  night  Constantia  wrote  to  Hadalstone  for  Aline's 
clothes,  announcing  incidentally  her  arrival  in  town.  In 
a  dignified  letter  she  dismissed  Fraulein  Eckelstein,  in- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  53 

forming  her  that,  although  Miss  Hayward  was  welcome 
at  her  father's  house,  neither  she  (Constantia)  nor  the 
Honourable  Stephen  Hayward,  were  satisfied  with  not 
having  been  notified  of  her  arrival.  Constantia  took  a 
certain  risk  in  writing  thus  peremptorily,  but  the  risk 
was  justified.  Fraulein  Eckelstein  knew  nothing.  Jack 
Forrest  and  the  young  lady  had  disappeared  simultane- 
ously, but  nobody  at  Hadalstone  thought  of  connecting 
the  two  events.  Fraulein  accepted  unquestioningly  the 
explanation  that  the  girl  had  grown  tired  of  the  solitude 
of  the  country  and  had  joined  her  father  and  aunt  with- 
out leave,  and,  trembling  for  her  recommendation,  if  it 
should  be  known  that  a  young  lady  under  her  charge  had 
"  run  away,"  even  to  her  father,  in  a  copious  answer,  full 
of  split  infinitives  and  hide-and-seek  verbs,  she  begged  the 
secrecy  that  would  have  been  begged  of  her.  So  far  they 
were  safe.  The  illness,  too,  that  would  pass.  The  old 
family  doctor,  incurious,  was  satisfied  with  a  halting  ex- 
planation, and  comfortably  diagnosed  "  shock  to  the  sys- 
tem." 

Within  two  days  of  Aline's  arrival  in  Grosvenor  Street, 
the  silence  of  Hadalstone,  and  the  acceptance  of  Gros- 
venor Square  were  secured.  There  remained  only — 
Jack  Forrest.  It  was  all  very  well  for  Stephen  and  Con- 
stantia to  face  vaguely  the  possibility  of  blackmail,  but 
certain  it  was  that  a  thousand  pounds  must  be  found  im- 
mediately. This  was  a  ridiculously  small  sum  for  Aline's 
freedom,  if  they  could  persuade  themselves  that  even  for 
this  sum  they  were  securing  it.  But,  between  them  they 
bad  not  a  thousand  pounds  lying  idle  at  their  bankers, 
nor  had  they  securities  on  which  they  could  raise  such  an 
amount.  Yet,  whether  it  represented  the  full  purchase 
price  of  security,  or  merely  an  instalment,  its  payment 
was  imperative. 

Constantia,  when  the  first  two  days  had  gone  safely  by, 
and  it  seemed  that  no  one  was  the  wiser  for  the  girl's 
escapade,  began  to  breathe  more  freely,  and  to  consider 
the  pecuniary  qt.estion,  to  talk  things  over  with  Stephen, 


54.  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

and  suggest  expedients.  Theirs  was  not  by  any 
a  wealthy  family ;  even  the  Marquis  had  estates  to  keep 
up  commensurate,  at  least,  with  his  income,  and  Stephen 
had  already  received  as  much  help  as  he  cared  to  ask  from 
both  his  uncle  and  his  cousin.  He  could  not  go  to  them 
for  this  sum.  He  ran  over  in  his  mind  a  list  of  people 
whom  he  might  ask  for  the  loan,  and  he  rejected  them 
one  by  one.  Then,  being  absolutely  at  his  wits'  end,  he 
commenced  to  reassure  Constantia.  He  told  her  not  to 
worry,  the  money  would  be  all  right.  When  she  was 
reassured,  he  lay  awake  all  night,  going  over  impossible 
channels  wherein  he  might  possibly  find  one  thousand 
pounds. 

On  the  third  day  after  he  had  brought  his  daughter 
home  he  received  a  letter  from  Jack  Forrest,  asking  him 
when  he  might  expect  the  money.  It  was  perfectly  civil, 
but  Stephen  detested  the  necessity  of  replying  to  it;  he 
hated  the  sub-suggestion  that  he  had  been  dilatory  in 
keeping  his  word. 

He  wrote  curtly  back  that  a  cheque  would  be  forwarded 
on  the  morrow,  pressure  of  business  accounted  for  the 
delay — public  business  that  would  not  wait. 

Then  he  breakfasted,  and  again  reassured  Constantia, 
went  for  his  morning  canter,  and  later  to  the  club  for 
lunch.  Whom  he  met  at  the  club,  and  what  happened 
there,  must  be  told  in  another  chapter. 

Suffice  it  now  that  Jack  Forrest  received,  not  a  cheque, 
but  a  thousand  pounds  in  hundred  pound  notes,  and  his 
mean  little  eyes  sparkled  when  he  opened  the  registered 
packet,  and  straightway  he  began  to  make  calculations 
with  a  stump  of  pencil  in  an  uneducated  hand.  All  his 
calculations  came  out  exactly  as  he  thought  they  would, 
which  is  not  surprising,  since  he  reckoned  his  gains  as 
many  people  count  their  chickens  !  When  he  had  finished, 
and  ceased  poring  over  his  dirty  little  bit  of  paper,  and 
had  enjoyed  again  the  rustle  of  the  crisp  notes  Stephen 
had  sent  him,  he  said  to  himself : 

"  If  it  comes  off  crooked,  all  the  worse  for  Stephen 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  55 

Hay  ward."  This  really  summed  up  the  situation,  but  left 
out  one  factor,  which,  as  it  happened,  was  the  very  one 
that  ultimately  decided  the  matter.  The  factor  omitted 
was  Providence.  "  If  it  comes  off  crooked,"  said  the 
jockey,  thinking  of  his  scheme,  his  coup,  which  now,  at 
last,  he  had  the  money  to  work,  "  all  the  worse  for 
Stephen  Hayward !" 

It  will  be  necessary  to  see  where  Stephen  obtained  that 
thousand  pounds,  and  on  what  terms,  before  one  can  defi- 
nitely pronounce  Stephen  "  none  the  worse"  for  his  ex- 
perience ;  but  there  need  be  no  delay  in  summing  up  the 
situation  as  far  as  it  affected  Jack  Forrest,  blackguard, 
ex- jockey,  and  racing  tout. 

He  took  himself  and  his  ten  notes  to  Friston,  where 
the  friend  upon  whom  he  relied  for  help  in  his  scheme 
superintended  Lord  Ralming's  racing  stables.  This  other 
scoundrel  was  quite  prepared  to  discuss  the  business,  and 
over  a  hearty  lunch  they  did  discuss  it.  After  the  lunch 
Jack  tried  Jemima  over  the  hurdles,  not  that  he  had  any 
chance  of  being  allowed  to  ride  her  in  the  race  about 
which  they  were  plotting,  for  the  exclusiveness  of  the 
Jockey  Club  was  complete,  but  he  wanted  to  see  what  the 
filly  could  do  in  experienced  hands,  with  a  view  to  her 
not  doing  it. 

Then  it  was  that  that  most  wonderful  accident  hap- 
pened, a  bit  of  luck  the  Haywards  could  never  have  ex- 
pected, a  coincident  at  which  even  a  novelist  might  hesi- 
tate. He  took  the  filly  into  the  field,  rode  her  for  all  she 
was  worth,  and  stopped  her  by  his  new  trick,  a  trick 
which,  more  slowly  performed,  was  to  be  the  crux  of  the 
coup.  But  Jemima  crossed  her  legs,  she  came  down 
heavily,  and  over  her  head,  as  neatly  as  possible,  came 
Jack  Forrest,  that  capable  jockey,  an  inexplicable  acci- 
dent. He  had  ridden  for  ten  years,  been  over  water  and 
over  fences,  he  had  won  or  lost,  as  it  suited  his  book, 
but  he  had  never  before  met  with  an  accident.  He  never 
met  with  one  afterwards.  His  ample  luncheon  may  have 
unsteadied  him,  or  it  mav  have  been  the  effect  on  his 


56  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

nerves  of  his  recent  experiences,  or  the  weight  of  the 
notes  he  carried ;  or,  perhaps,  that  unknown  factor,  Provi- 
dence, was  working  for  Aline,  or  saving  Stephen  Hay- 
ward  for  the  Conservatives ;  or  it  may  have  been,  as  the 
editor  of  The  London  Sportsman  said  to  his  sub.,  that  the 
god  who  watches  over  newspapers  knew  they  were  short 
of  half  a  column.  Whatever  the  cause,  the  effect  was 
supreme.  Jack  Forrest's  neck  was  broken;  he  never 
spoke,  and  never  moved  after  that  successful  trick  of  his 
was  successfully  accomplished.  Whether  it  was  the  con- 
cussion that  killed  him,  or  the  shock  to  the  spinal  cord, 
was  the  subject  of  discussion  that  entertained  twelve 
farmers  and  a  medical  coroner  for  a  whole  afternoon. 

The  London  Sportsman,  out  of  gratitude,  gave  Forrest 
a  handsome  obituary ;  the  writer  never  mentioned  he  had 
been  suspended,  but  enumerated  the  races  he  had  won, 
recounted  his  good  seconds,  and  filled  up  the  half  column 
without  difficulty. 

Stephen  was  not  a  reader  of  the  racing  papers,  and  it 
was  John,  eldest  son  of  the  Marquis,  who  told  him  the 
news.  Not  that  John  thought  it  was  of  any  particular 
interest  to  Stephen,  though  the  latter  had  once  questioned 
him  about  Jack  Forrest;  it  was  simply  that  John  had 
nothing  to  talk  about  at  any  time  but  racing  or  horses, 
and,  meeting  Stephen,  it  was  natural  for  him,  with  the 
vague  memory  of  that  question,  to  say : 

"  Did  you  see  that  that  fellow  Forrest  you  once  asked 
me  about  was  killed  at  Friston,  jerked  out  of  his  saddle? 
I'll  bet  ten  to  one  he  was  at  some  trick  or  other  with 
Jemima ;  the  filly  broke  her  legs." 

Stephen  could  not  believe  it  at  first.  He  borrowed  the 
paper  as  unconcernedly  as  possible,  and,  while  he  was 
reading  that  absorbing  half  column,  he  heard  no  more  of 
the  things  that  John  was  telling  him.  He  parted  with  his 
cousin  abruptly,  anxious  only  to  get  home  to  Constantia 
with  the  news. 

"  Hullo,  you've  run  off  with  my  paper,"  John  called 
after  him,  as  Stephen  jumped  into  his  hansom  with  a  hur- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  57 

ried  nod  of  farewell.  Then  he  went  off  grumbling  be- 
cause he  had  forgotten  to  note  the  odds  against  Isinglass 
for  the  Spring  Handicap.  Stephen,  reading  and  re- 
reading the  half  column,  could  hardly  believe  his  good 
fortune,  could  hardly  credit  his  freedom.  On  the  way 
home  he  stopped  the  cab,  and  bought  all  the  sporting 
papers.  Each  of  them  had  something,  if  only  a  line  or 
two,  about  the  inquest.  There  was  no  manner  or  shadow 
of  doubt  that  Jack  Forrest  was  really  dead. 

When  he  arrived  home,  Stephen  sent  for  Constantia 
to  the  library,  put  the  papers  into  her  hand,  pointing 
out  the  paragraph,  then  gently  pushed  her  toward  the 
door.  At  a  glance  she  seemed  to  gather  the  startling 
import. 

"  There,  go  now,"  he  said,  "  you  can  read  them  at 
leisure.  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  no  doubt  at  all.  I 
am  very  busy.  I've  done  nothing  these  few  days ;  I  must 
get  to  work.  Send  Jackson  down  to  me,  will  you?  He 
has  been  very  worried  about  my  neglected  letters.  What ! 
crying,  Con?  Well,  I  shouldn't  have  expected  it  of 
you." 

"  It's  too  good  to  be  true !"  She  was  not  crying,  but 
there  were  tears  of  thanksgiving  in  her  eyes.  "  I'll  take 
these  up  to  the  child,  half  her  illness  is  fear.  I  suppose 
she  deserves  her  punishment,  but  it  is  pitiable  to  see 
her." 

"  Deserves,  nonsense !"  said  Stephen,  with  quick  irrita- 
bility. "  Don't  let  me  hear  you  say  that  again.  '  De- 
serves !'  it's  we  who  deserved  punishment ;  and  now  we 
haven't  got  it,  and  are  not  going  to  get  it.  The  whole 
incident  can  be  forgotten.  We'll  make  up  to  the  child  for 
our  neglect." 

Stephen  was  softer  to  the  girl  in  his  heart  than  Con- 
stantia ;  but  then,  Constantia  was  a  woman,  and  had  been 
in  the  wrong. 

From  that  day  Aline's  recovery  to  health  was  rapid. 
She  clung  to  her  aunt  during  her  convalescence,  and  won 
on  her  through  her  weakness.  The  motherliness  in  Con- 


58  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

stantia,  which  had  been  lavished  on  Stephen,  was  hard 
to  awaken  at  the  call,  at  the  need,  of  her  niece.  She  had 
so  nearly  wrecked  Stephen's  career,  so  perilously  nearly. 
iVery  slowly  her  affection  for  the  girl  revived,  at  the  best 
it  had  been  a  poor  thing,  with  Duty  at  its  root,  and  a 
certain  jealousy  cramping  its  growth.  Constantia  was 
a  cold  woman  naturally.  Aline  clung  to  her,  but  could 
get  only  a  limited  hold;  she  got  chilled  herself  in  the 
contact. 

However,  Constantia  was  bent  now  on  doing  her  duty 
to  Aline.  She  made  plans,  an  autumn  in  Florence,  a  win- 
ter in  Rome,  no  presentation  until  the  next  season.  In 
everything  Aline  acquiesced  humbly.  Her  body  grew 
well  quickly,  her  mind  was  paralysed  by  what  she  had  gone 
through ;  still  she  clung  chilly  and  forlornly  to  her  Aunt 
Constantia.  Preparations  were  made  for  their  journey 
abroad,  Aline  always  dumbly  acquiescent.  Jack  Forrest 
was  dead;  that  was  all  that  seemed  to  have  reached  her 
intelligence. 

It  was  arranged  that  Stephen  should  follow  them  after 
the  recess. 

As  they  were  just  about  to  start  on  their  journey,  Con- 
stantia, neat  and  prim  in  her  tailor-made  clothes,  stand- 
ing in  the  hall  amid  the  piled-up  luggage,  waiting  for 
Aline  and  the  maid,  sprang  upon  Stephen  at  last  thr 
question  he  had  been  waiting  for  during  the  last  three 
weeks. 

"  By  the  way,  Stephen,  I  never  asked  you,  I  forgot 
to  ask  you ;  where  did  you  get  that  thousand  pounds  after 
all?" 

It  was  what  she  saw  in  his  face  that  made  her  leave 
the  luggage,  and  follow  him  into  the  library.  She  had 
read,  in  the  report  of  the  inquest,  that  in  Jack  Forrest's 
pocket  a  thousand  pounds  in  Bank  of  England  notes  had 
been  found.  She  Knew  these  must  have  come  from 
Stephen,  but,  in  the  midst  of  preparations  for  thfe  foreign 
tour,  and  the  social  and  household  arrangements,  she  had 
forgotten  to  ask  her  brother  from  whom,  or  how,  he  had 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  59 

obtained  the  money.  Stephen,  when  he  smiled  in  answer 
to  her  question,  and  evaded  it,  had  a  curious  whimsical 
look  of  guilt.  Where  could  he  have  obtained  it?  She 
followed  him  into  the  library,  and  repeated  her  question. 
He  held  the  door  open  for  her. 

"  Now,  don't  faint ;   don't  excite  yourself  unduly " 

"  Be  serious,  Steve " 

"  I  will — I  was — I  am — ,"  but  his  expression  seemed 
to  doubt  how  she  would  take  the  news.  "  As  I  remarked 
— don't  faint — I  borrowed  it  from  Karl  Althaus." 


CHAPTER  FOUR 


STEPHEN  HAYWARD  had  excellent  reasons  for  with- 
holding from  his  sister  the  name  of  the  gentleman  from 
whom  he  had  borrowed  the  money,  excellent  reasons  for 
breaking  it  to  her  gently  when  she  asked  him  point-blank, 
and  even  for  fearing  that  she  might  faint  when  he  told 
her  what  he  knew  she  would  regard  as  a  painful  and 
unfortunate  indiscretion  —  that  he  had  borrowed  from 
Karl  Althaus. 

Constantia  Hayward,  whom  her  flippant  young  rela- 
tives looked  upon  as  a  stiff  old  maid,  was  of  course  noth- 
ing of  the  sort.  But,  being  a  Hayward,  and  estimating, 
perhaps  overestimating,  the  family  importance,  she  had 
certain  narrow  codes  by  which  the  family  should  support 
it.  The  misfortune  of  her  father's  character  was  not  to 
her  what  it  was  to  Stephen,  her  pedigree  overrode  it. 
Governing  these  codes  or  creeds  was  a  dislike  to  the  social 
laxness  which  had  allowed  what  Lady  Violet  called  the 
"  pigs  in  clover"  element  to  intrude  into  the  circle,  where, 
in  Constantia's  estimation,  blood  should  have  been  the 
only  credential.  Constantia  was  strong  on  "  blood"  and 
its  privileges ;  and  she  thought  that  among  the  privileges 
held  by  the  Haywards  was  the  right  of  exclusiveness. 
Incidentally,  she  wished  them  to  set  to  society  generally 
the  example  of  keeping  their  drawing-rooms  and  their 
visiting  lists  free  from  outsiders. 

It  was  no  question  with  her  of  whether  these  lived  in 
Piccadilly  or  in  Park  Lane,  in  Grosvenor  Square  or  in 
Belgravia,  whether  they  were  Americans,  Germans, 
Dutch,  or  Englishmen,  whether  they  had  changed  their 
names  or  retained  their  patronymics,  whether  they  were 
millionaires  or  multi-millionaires,  whether  they  professed 
60 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  61 

the  religion  of  the  country  they  inhabited,  or  whether 
they  acknowledged,  if  they  did  not  conform  to,  the  re- 
strictions of  a  more  ancient  faith.  She  did  not  care 
whether  they  were  railway  kings  or  Chicago  sausage- 
makers,  Australian  squatters  or  South  African  mining 
magnates.  She  did  not  gamble,  so  their  habits  did  not 
attract  her,  she  did  not  personally  require  money,  so  their 
liberality  did  not  appeal  to  her,  she  had  more  than  she  de- 
sired of  society,  so  their  hospitality  had  no  charm  for  her. 

At  first  it  had  been  a  joke  among  her  friends,  later 
it  had  been  recognised  that  Constantia  Hayward  had  ab- 
sorbed all  the  family  pride,  and  left  none  for  her  relatives. 
But  when  others  of  the  family  followed  suit  the  matter 
became  somewhat  serious.  It  was  a  large,  independent 
family,  with  many  ramifications,  it  had  more  than  one 
member  in  the  Cabinet,  more  still  in  the  House  of  Lords ; 
there  were  Haywards  in  the  Diplomatic  Service,  at  the 
Admiralty,  in  the  Services,  everywhere.  If  they  and  their 
women  set  to  work  to  keep  out  social  intruders,  to  form 
a  holy  of  holies,  a  cave,  an  inner  circle,  to  which  birth 
and  breeding  gave  the  only  entree,  they  were  capable  of 
doing  it;  they  could  build  a  barrier  that  should  mark  a 
fixed  demarcation  line  between  the  best  people  and  the 
second  best.  It  was  serious,  because  the  best  people — 
some  of  the  very  best  people  indeed — wanted  money,  and 
the  newcomers,  who  wanted  position,  were  prepared  to 
give  it.  But  these  insisted  on  a  place  among  the  exclu- 
sives;  some  of  them  put  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable, 
and  they  would  not  pay  for  lower  places.  If  the  Hay- 
wards  would  not  meet  them,  would  not  entertain  them, 
would  not  be  entertained  by  them,  the  difficulties  of  the 
poor  Marquises,  and  Earls,  Honourables,  and  Baronets, 
who  were  trying  to  assist  them  to  realise  their  laudable 
aspirations,  were  enormously  increased. 

Everybody  had  been  trying  to  influence  everybody  else 
all  through  the  season  before  Aline's  marriage.  Would 
the  Duchess  of  Alncaster  receive  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bernard 
P.  Coots,  whose  rose  ball  had  cost  them  ten  thousand 


62  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

pounds,  or  would  she  not?  Dared  the  Lady  Dorothea 
Vespris  allow  the  Drovingtons,  who  were  popularly  sup- 
posed to  own  half  Australia,  to  open  their  doors  in  Gros- 
venor  Square,  and  take  poor  Lord  Swanerton's  Scotch 
estates  off  his  hands,  in  vain?  Would  the  De  Vere  Pon- 
sonbys  refuse  to  hunt  the  wily  fox  on  the  Cottesdale  hills 
now  that  that  ennobled  foreign  banker,  Lord  Redmayns, 
had  taken  Cottesdale? 

Would  society,  under  the  guidance  of  the  Haywards, 
allow  Karl  Althaus  to  erect  his  temple  in  Park  Lane,  and 
refuse  to  worship  at  the  shrine  he  put  up  for  them  ? 

Constantia  had  her  partizans  and  her  opponents,  even 
in  the  family,  of  which,  by  the  way,  so  many  members 
were  impecunious,  but  her  heart  was  set  on  the  crusade, 
and  she  fought  hard ;  with  her  it  came  next  to  Stephen's 
career,  it  became  to  her  a  mission,  the  part  of  the  debt 
her  father  had  left  undischarged.  It  was  not  the  black 
sheep  of  society  she  wished  to  keep  out,  it  was  the  sheep 
that  belonged  to  another  flock  altogether.  The  exclusion 
of  the  nouveaux  riches  became  an  obsession  with  her. 
Having  neither  husband  nor  children,  she  wished  to  take 
Society,  with  a  capital  S,  under  her  protection,  and  keep 
it  safe  and  shepherded  from  stray  cattle.  It  had  been 
her  absorbing  interest  in  this  campaign,  perhaps,  that  had 
led  to  her  neglect  of  the  call  to  be  read  between  the  lines 
of  Aline's  weekly  letter  from  Hadalstone. 

Karl  Althaus,  with  the  set  that  followed  in  Karl 
Althaus's  wake,  had  been  recently  her  principal  bete  noir, 
her  dominant  fear.  Accident  had  thrown  him  in  her  way, 
and  his  tall,  rather  clumsy  figure,  his  massive  head,  with 
its  plentiful  hair,  wiry,  shaggy,  grey,  and  his  keen  eyes, 
were  not  to  be  overlooked.  They  had  met  at  a  crush, 
the  ball  at  the  Countess  of  Kintaille's.  Positively  and 
certainly  on  mischief  intent,  Algy  Cardargan  had  brought 
him  up  to  be  presented  to  her. 

It  was  Karl  himself  who  related  the  incident  to 
Stephen.  Karl  had  not  resented  it;  on  the  contrary,  it 
had  made  him  roar  with  laughter. 


63 

"  She  drew  herself  up — a  very  fine  woman,  your  sister ; 
she  didn't  bow,  she  just  tilted  her  head  a  shade.  '  My 
acquaintance  is  already  sufficiently  large/  she  let  out, 
as  if  she  were  a  refrigerator  bunged  up  with  ice.  Her 
acquaintance  was  already  sufficiently  large.  I  said,  '  Well, 
madam,  surely  I'm  large  enough  even  for  your  acquaint- 
ance.' She  didn't  smile;  she  just  passed  on.  I  don't 
think,  between  ourselves,  you  know,  Mr.  Hayward,  that 
your  sister  has  got  much  sense  of  humour !" 

Stephen  had  humour;  he  enjoyed  the  anecdote. 
Firstly,  his  sympathy  with  this  particular  crotchet  of  Con- 
stantia's  was  very  perfunctory,  secondly,  this  newcomer, 
this  Karl  Althaus,  really  interested  him.  He  was  pic- 
turesquely different  from  the  club  men,  politicians,  and 
parasites,  from  the  men  trained  at  one  school,  and  cut 
out  of  one  pattern,  with  whom  Stephen  habitually  con- 
sorted. And  Stephen's  history  and  early  training  had 
put  him  a  little  apart  from  those  who  should  have  been 
his  boyhood  companions.  He  had  a  world  of  experiences 
unknown  to  them.  He  was  more  akin  at  heart  to  this 
outsider.  Even  had  Stephen  backed  up  Constantia  loyally 
in  her  social  crusade,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  avoid 
speaking  to  Karl  Althaus  in  Mildmay's  smoking-room; 
it  was  rather  difficult,  in  fact,  to  speak  to  any  one  else,  for 
Karl's  grey,  massive  head  and  deep  voice  dominated  the 
room.  He  had  a  way  of  monopolising  the  conversation, 
and,  when  Stephen  Hayward  was  in  the  room,  he  directed 
his  talk  as  far  as  possible  to  him.  A  very  interesting  man 
Karl  Althaus ;  Stephen  found  him  increasingly  attract- 
ive as  a  companion,  he  was  so  natural,  so  genuine,  so 
positive.  He  was  paying  a  flying  visit  to  London.  He 
spoke  much  of  South  Africa,  and  South  Africa,  a  year 
before  the  Jameson  raid,  was  even  then  the  topic  of  the 
day.  He  knew  his  subject  thoroughly,  and  everything  he 
said  was  said  well,  that  is,  with  emphasis,  and  convic- 
tion, and  a  certain  rough  eloquence.  But  Karl  knew 
other  things  beside  South  Africa ;  he  was  a  buyer  of  pic- 
tures, a  collector  of  bric-a-brac;  he  had  no  culture,  but 


64  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

a  fine,  instinctive  taste.  Stephen  soon  found  it  was  worth 
his  while  to  take  Karl  with  him  to  Christie's.  What 
Stephen  had  learned  Karl  knew  without  learning.  The 
two  men,  so  acutely  different,  were  strangely  sympathetic. 

Stephen  had  not  told  Constantia  of  his  growing  friend- 
ship with  the  big  South  African.  Karl  may  have  laid 
himself  out  to  attract  Stephen,  but  that  Stephen  was  at- 
tracted was  due  to  no  manoeuvre  of  Karl's,  it  came  about 
naturally.  They  met  at  the  club,  for  Constantia  and  her 
set  had  not  been  successful  in  keeping  Karl  out  of  the 
Carlton,  they  had  met  at  picture-galleries  and  private 
exhibitions  of  works  of  art,  they  had  grown,  too,  into  the 
little  intimacies  of  congenial  club  acquaintance.  There- 
fore, when  Stephen  had  turned  over  in  his  mind  every  one 
to  whom  he  could  apply  for  Jack  Forrest's  thousand 
pounds,  and  had  rejected  them  all,  had  searched  every 
channel,  and  searched  in  vain,  he  permitted  himself  to 
remember  that  that  big,  eager  colonial  acquaintance  of 
his  had,  time  after  time,  suggested,  even  insisted,  that  he 
was  flinging  away  opportunity  after  opportunity,  wasting 
a  fortune  in  not  investing  or  speculating  in  mine  or  land 
shares  under  his  direction.  Stephen  had  hitherto  brushed 
aside  all  such  suggestions.  He  had  neither  capital  to 
invest  nor  credit  with  which  to  speculate.  He  was  incor- 
ruptibly  honest,  because,  both  in  his  limitations  and  his 
strength,  in  his  instincts  and  in  his  ambitions,  he  was  the 
embryo  of  an  English  statesman. 

But  now  he  was  a  father  also,  and  that  pretty,  heart- 
broken girl  belonged  to  him,  and  looked  to  him  to  bring 
her  freedom,  an  expensive  purchase,  for,  that  the  thou- 
sand pounds  would  be  only  an  instalment,  Stephen  had  no 
doubt.  He  could  not  know  that  that  restive  mare  was 
going  to  complete  the  deal. 

For  two  days  he  listened  to  the  bulletins,  heard  the 
distant  sound  of  moans  as  he  hurried  to  his  rooms,  met 
Constantia  red-eyed  on  the  stairs,  saw  the  trim  hospital 
nurse  busied  about  her  work,  and  felt  that  he  alone  was 
doing  nothing,  that  everything  remained  for  him  to  do. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  65 

He  recognised  it  as  a  fortunate  coincidence  that  the  first 
man  he  met  when  he  turned  into  the  Carlton  on  the  day 
he  received  Jack  Forrest's  letter  of  reminder  was  Karl 
Althaus.  Stephen  would  have  passed  him  with  a  nod, 
but  somehow  his  mind  was  relieved.  There  is  no  doubt 
these  rich  men,  these  men  with  the  rumour  of  many 
millions  surrounding  their  personalities,  have  a  certain 
irresistible  attraction  for  the  impecunious.  Stephen  had 
discussed  this  curious  magnetism,  but  he  had  never  felt 
it.  He  had  always  been  poor,  but  he  had  never  wanted 
money  as  keenly  as  he  wanted  other  things.  He  wanted 
money  badly  now,  and  Karl's  big  body,  strong  face,  and 
deep  voice,  seemed  like  a  promise.  Still,  he  would  have 
passed  him  with  a  nod. 

"  Now,  then,  that  won't  do,  Mr.  Hayward ;  one  would 
think  you  were  your  sister,  eh !  passing  me  by  like  that. 
Coin'  in  to  lunch,  are  you  ?  So  am  I ;  we'll  have  a  snack 
together.  The  African  mail  is  in ;  things  are  getting  very 
tight  up  there,  your  people  won't  be  able  to  keep  their 
eyes  shut  much  longer." 

Stephen  smiled. 

"  Tight,  are  they  ?    Eldorado  played  out  ?" 

"  Eh !  You  may  laugh ;  that's  what  you  fellows  do, 
you  never  notice  the  sky  is  getting  dark  until  a  thunder- 
bolt falls  on  your  head.  Here,  waiter,  chops  and  potatoes 
for  two." 

Stephen  unfolded  his  napkin,  surveyed  the  bill  of  fare. 

"What's  the  good  of  that?  Eleven  times  altogether 
I've  seen  you  lunching  here.  You  take  five  minutes  look- 
ing down  that  greasy  bit  of  paper,  and  then  you  order  a 
chop,  and  a  whisky  and  soda." 

Stephen  laughed  as  he  abandoned  the  menu,  and  leaned 
back  in  his  chair. 

"  You  seem  to  know  my  habits." 

"  Oh !  any  one  would  notice  a  habit  like  that.  Now, 
what  a  pity  it  is,  Hayward — you'll  excuse  me  dropping 
the  mister,  I  can't  get  my  tongue  round  these  ceremo- 
niousnesses — what  a  pity  it  is  you're  such  a  squeamish 

5 


66  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

fellow  over  money  matters.  Here,  you,  waiter,  I'll  have 
a  pint  of  Bass.  There  never  was  such  a  time  as  now  for 
making  money." 

Stephen  surveyed  his  chop,  and  Karl  watched  him. 

"  What  do  you  call  squeamish?"  he  said,  looking  up. 

"  Squeamish  ?  Well,  I  call  it  squeamish,  knowing  me 
as  well  as  you  do,  that  you  never  take  advantage  of  it." 

"  Take  advantage  of  it  ?" 

"  I've  told  you,  well,  a  dozen  things,  hinted  at  others." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  speculate,"  said  Stephen  weakly,  playing 
with  his  knife  and  fork,  seeing  the  opening,  yet  shrinking 
from  it. 

"And  why  not?" 

"  No  money,"  he  .said  briefly. 

"  That's  a  reason  for  speculating,  not  for  leaving  it 
alone.  But  I  wasn't  talking  of  speculating,  certainties  I 
mean,  man,  certainties." 

"  Are  there  any  ?" 

"  Dozens,  when  you've  got  Karl  Althaus  at  the  back  of 
you." 

Stephen  went  on  with  his  lunch,  although  all  the  time 
he  was  thinking  of  that  thousand  pounds,  wrondering  if  he 
could  ask  Karl  Althaus  to  lend  it  to  him,  it  would  be  a 
small  sum  to  such  a  man,  or  whether  he  should  ask  Alt- 
haus to  show  him  how  to  make  it,  or  whether,  after  all, 
he  had  not  better  do  anything  rather  than  become  in- 
volved in  pecuniary  transactions  with  what  he  and  Con 
had  always  called  "  the  gang."  It  was  a  strange  coinci- 
dence that  Karl  Althaus  should  have  begun  at  once  to 
talk  about  speculation.  It  was  not  so  strange  as  it  seemed 
to  Stephen,  for  neither  Karl,  nor  Karl's  set,  habitually 
spoke  of  anything  else.  Stephen  was  absorbed  and  per- 
plexed, his  chop  was  dry  and  tasteless,  he  grumbled  at  it. 
Karl,  shrewdly  observant,  said : 

"  You've  got  the  hump  to-day,  you're  out  of  sorts. 
What's  wrong?"  Stephen  looked  up  and  met  Karl's  grey 
eyes,  one  of  them  a  little  bloodshot. 

"  Well,"  he  said  whimsically,  "  you've  hit  it.     I  have 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  67 

got  the  hump,  I  am  worried."  He  pushed  his  plate  away. 
"  I  must  get  out  of  this.  I've  been  overworked.  A  couple 
of  days  with  the  rod  will  put  me  right." 

"  Bosh !  Overworked !  Who  minds  overwork  ?  Why, 

man,  I've "  And  here  followed  a  wonderful  relation 

of  fifteen  consecutive  days  in  which  Karl,  with  an  average 
of  three  hours'  sleep  in  the  twenty-four,  had  outwitted 
a  big  Company,  and  netted  half  a  million  of  money. 

Stephen  listened  with  interest  keener  than,  and  differ- 
ent from,  any  he  had  hitherto  given  to  Karl  Althaus's 
financial  stories. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  work  ?  Overworked !" 
Karl  flung  his  grey  mane  back  in  contempt. 

Almost  involuntarily  Stephen  said: 

"  I  think  I'd  do  fifteen  days'  work  like  that  if  I  got  as 
well  paid  for  it." 

Karl  took  the  cue  he  had  been  waiting  for  very  quickly. 

"  Do  you  want  money  ?" 

And  still  Stephen  fenced. 

"  I  suppose  every  one  wants  money,  more  or  less." 

"  Stick  to  the  point.  I've  an  idea  you're  in  a  fix,  want 
a  lump,  perhaps.  Do  you  think  there's  a  better  man  in 
the  world  to  come  to  than  Karl  Althaus  ?  Eh !" 

"  I  suppose  you  are  used  to  people  consulting  you  about 
money  matters?" 

"  Consulting  me !"  Karl  laughed  outright ;  the  chair 
creaked  as  he  put  his  back  against  it  and  laughed.  "  You 
bet !  Consultation  you  call  it !  Why,  they  drag  it  off  me, 
put  their  hands  in  my  pocket  and  pull  it  out,  they  dip 
into  me  as  if  I  was  a  lucky  bag.  Consult !" 

"  So  you've  a  fine  contempt  for  your  fellow  men?" 

Karl  answered  quickly: 

"  Contempt  ?  Not  I !  They  can't  want  it  worse  than 
I've  done,  and  they  can't  do  worse  to  get  it  either.  But 
come,  now,  what  do  you  want  ?  How  much  do  you  want  ? 
I'll  put  you  on  the  right  horse,  never  fear." 

Stephen  took  a  sudden  resolution,  dropped  his  noncha- 
lance, leaned  forward,  and  said  hurriedly  i 


68  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  I  do  want  money,  want  it  badly — a  sum — and  at  once. 
Your  '  good  thing'  is  of  no  use  to  me.  I  shouldn't  know 
how  to  take  advantage  of  it,  probably,  and,  anyway,  I 
suppose  it  would  be  an  affair  of  weeks.  The  money  I 
want  will  be  of  no  use  to  me  if  I  don't  have  it  to-day, 
to-morrow  at  latest.  Will  you  lend  it  me?  That  is  the 
question.  You  know  something  of  my  affairs — I — I — am 
pretty  sure  to  have  a  large  augmentation  of  income  one 
of  these  days."  The  slow  blood  mounted  to  Stephen's 
face  when  he  alluded  to  his  possible  promotion.  "  I  will 
pay  you  back,  and  with  interest,  as  soon  as  I  am  in  a 
position  to  do  so,  but  I  have  no  securitv  to  offer,  none." 

"A  large  sum?" 

"  Large  to  me." 

"  A  hundred  thousand  ?" 

"  Good  God,  no.    I  want  a  thousand  pounds." 

Karl  smiled ;  it  was  a  charming  smile,  frank,  engaging, 
one  might  almost  say  sweet;  his  teeth  were  so  sound 
and  even,  the  curves  of  his  thick  lips  so  generous.  Other- 
wise he  was  a  plain  man,  although  impressive.  A  man 
of  about  forty-five,  his  grey,  thick  hair  crowning  a  strong, 
clean-shaven,  mobile  face.  He  did  not  look  like  a  gentle- 
man, perhaps,  but  he  had  a  personality.  He  stood  out 
from  the  ruck  of  men  as  something  bigger,  stronger, 
more  important  than  his  fellows.  His  hands  were  brown, 
with  square  finger-nails;  Stephen's,  white  and  tapered, 
looked  like  a  woman's  beside  them.  He  rose  from  his 
chair. 

"  Come  on,  come  up  to  my  rooms  with  me.  I'll  write 
you  a  cheque.  It's  absurd,  absurd  for  a  man  like  you  to  be 
short  of  a  thousand  pounds.  And  I'll  show  you  what  to 
do  with  it?  you  mustn't  throw  it  away  in  paying  things ; 
tradesmen  can  wait,  they're  used  to  waiting."  Stephen, 
following  him  out  into  the  street,  answered,  shortly, 
almost  sullenly,  it  seemed  to  Karl : 

"  But  it  isn't  tradesmen." 

"Not  tradesmen?"  Karl  linked  his  arm  in  Stephen's 
as  they  walked  down  St.  James's  Street  together,  talking 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  69 

confidentially  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Stephen  was 
ashamed  of  himself  for  feeling  ashamed  of  Karl. 

"Well,  well,  now!  Not  tradesman,  eh?  I  remember 

when  I  was  selling  winkles  off  a  barrow  in  Hoxton " 

The  rest  of  the  anecdote  reached  Stephen  confusedly,  for 
Algy  Cardargan  bowled  past  them  in  a  hansom,  and  Algy 
looked  at  him  and  his  companion  with  amusement,  cu- 
riosity, surprise,  "  Damn  him,  with  his  '  I'll  tell  Con' 
expression,"  Stephen  said  to  himself  irritably,  and  so  he 
lost  the  Hoxton  story. 

Stephen  knew  something  of  Karl  Althaus's  taste  in 
bric-a-brac.  The  sumptuous  rooms  in  Piccadilly  were  but 
an  ante-chamber  to  the  palace  building  in  Park  Lane,  he 
had  heard. 

"  I'm  staying  in  these  diggings  till  they've  run  up  my 
shanty  in  front,"  was  Karl's  apology,  as  he  put  his  key 
in  the  door.  Bronzes  and  majolica  were  in  the  front  hall ; 
a  Velasquez,  two  Teniers,  a  Rubens,  hung  in  the  square, 
top-lighted,  inner  one.  The  screen,  behind  which  was  the 
door  that  led  to  the  study,  was  hung  with  Raphael  Mor- 
ghen  engravings  and  Rembrandt  etchings. 

"And  did  you  really  sell  winkles  at  Hoxton?"  was 
Stephen's  involuntary  exclamation. 

Karl,  leading  the  way  into  the  library,  answered  indif- 
ferently, turning  round  as  he  spoke  to  look  at  his  pet 
Turner — he  never  came  into  the  room  without  a  glance  at 
that  wonderful  sea  and  sky :  "  I  can't  remember  whether 
they  were  winkles ;  they  may  have  been  mussles.  I  know 
they  were  in  a  saucer,  and  there  was  a  bottle  of  vinegar 
attached  to  the  show,  and  some  pepper ;  and  then  that 
fellow  bilked  me,  as  I  was  telling  you  coming  along " 

"  And  now  you're  building  that  great  big  palace  in 
Park  Lane?" 

"  And  hobnobbing  with  a  future  Prime  Minister ! 
Never  you  mind  about  that,  there's  nothing  in  that.  It 
is  only  the  first  few  thousands  that  take  the  blood  out  of 
you,  the  rest  is  easy  enough.  Money's  like  rabbits,  when 
you've  got  a  start,  you  simply  let  it  breed.  Mine's  breed- 


70  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

ing.  I'm  going  to  make  this  cheque  for  a  couple  of  thou- 
sand," he  said,  seating  himself  at  the  writing-table,  "  and 
then  I'm  going  to  show  you  how  to  make  it  breed." 

Stephen  was  uncomfortable,  he  didn't  sit  down.  Sud- 
denly the  Turners  arrested  him ;  he  had  a  cultured  eye. 

"  Those  are  the  Abbotsford  Turners,"  Karl  said,  no- 
ticing, as  he  wrote,  the  restless  footsteps  halt.  "  I've 
picked  'em  up  one  by  one.  Some  cheap,  some  at  the  price 
of  their  weight  in  diamonds,  some  off  dealers  who  put 
on  an  honest  profit,  some  off  collectors  who  knew  they'd 
got  a  buyer,  and  opened  their  mouths  till  you'd  think  the 
top  of  their  heads  would  come  off.  Here  you  are."  He 
had  been  writing  as  he  spoke ;  now  he  rose  and  held  out 
the  pen  and  slip  of  paper  to  Stephen.  Stephen  put  out 
his  hand — and  hesitated.  It  was  acutely  necessary  for 
him  to  have  the  money.  Without  it,  to-morrow  Jack  For- 
rest might  be  sitting  in  the  library  in  Grosvenor  Place, 
straw  in  mouth,  obstinate  and  cunning,  insisting  on  his 
right  of  access  to  that  miserable  little  girl  upstairs.  But 
still  Stephen  hesitated,  for  it  seemed  the  price  of  his 
peace,  of  his  independence. 

"  Althaus,"  he  said  desperately,  "  why  are  you  so  good 
to  me?  Why  are  you  lending  me  this?  Have  you  got 
anything  in  your  head?  Are  you  trying  to  buy  with  it 
something  that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  sell  ?  Don't  think 
me  ungrateful.  I'm  desperately  in  need  of  money, 
but " 

"Well,  you  can  put  it  up.  I  don't  want  a  title, — at 
least  not  yet,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  help  me  to  get  into 
Society.  Society  is  much  more  anxious  about  me  than 
I  am  about  it,  so  you  can  make  your  mind  easy.  Tut, 
man,  don't  make  an  ass  of  yourself.  What's  two  thousand 
pounds  to  me?  It's  not  a  button  off  my  coat." 

"  But  you  want  something — you  haven't  resented  my 
sister's  attitude ;  I  see  you  know  all  about  that." 

"  Yes,  yes,  and  that  she  calls  us  *  pigs  in  clover.'  " 

"  No ;  that  was  the  famous  mot  of  Lady  Violet,  the 
Duchess's  daughter." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  71 

"  Well,  any  way,  I  know  all  about  it,  and  about  the 
social  crusade,  and  I  don't  care  a  damn !" 

"  And  you  single  me  out " 

"  Yes ;  I  single  you  out.  But  it's  not  because  of  your 
blue  blood  or  your  social  privileges." 

"  Well,  I'm  in  the  Opposition " 

"  I  know.  But  that  won't  last.  Hayward "  Karl 

leaned  forward  and  put  his  hand  on  Stephen's  arm.  "  You 
can  take  it  from  me,  if  I  do  want  something  off  you,  it's 
something  you  will  want  to  give,  and  will  be  proud  of 
having  given.  They  wanted  you,  you  remember,  on  the 
Charter,  on  the  Board;  you  wouldn't  come.  Well,"  he 
spoke  seriously — he  was  suddenly  serious,  "  I  want  to 
give  you  a  hint.  There's  trouble  brewing  over  there — 
trouble  they  don't  understand  here,  won't  listen  to.  True, 
you're  in  the  Opposition,  but  the  time's  not  far  off  when 
you  won't  be.  We  want  a  friend  over  here — a  friend  in 
power " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  know  what  you're  trying  to 
tell  me.  I  am  not  quite  sure  I  want  to  know.  But  you 
haven't  quite  the  hang  of  English  politics ;  you've  come 
to  the  wrong  shop.  If  I've  any  idea  of  what  you're  hint- 
ing at,  it's  to  the  Colonial  Office  you  ought  to  be  address- 
ing yourself — to  the  Marquis  of  Ripon.  Here,"  he  held 
out  to  Karl  the  cheque  he  had  given  him,  "  if  you're  lend- 
ing me  that  on  the  strength  of  any  power  I  have,  or  may 
have,  in  South  African  affairs " 

"  Put  it  up,  man.  I  know  what  I'm  doing.  I  am  lend- 
ing you  the  money  because  I  like  you:  I've  lent  bigger 
sums  for  worse  reasons.  I  know  all  about  Ripon  and  the 
Colonial  Office ;  we'll  work  that  another  way.  But  you're 
a  Hayward,  and  your  boss  is  well  in  with  Sarum.  Sarum 
has  been  Prime  Minister  before,  and  will  be  again,  Jev- 
ington  is  a  Privy  Councillor,  and  you  lead  him  by  the 
nose.  You  see  I  know  all  about  it.  I  don't  want  to  bind 
you  to  anything,  but  if  the  time  comes  when  life  gets  in- 
supportable for  us  up  there"  — "  up  there"  meant  in 
Johannesburg,  Stephen  knew — "  and  we  have  to  take  mat- 


72  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

ters  in  our  own  hands,  we  may  want  a  friend  at  Court. 
Will  you  be  that  friend?" 

"  I  don't  know  to  what  you  are  committing  me,"  said 
Stephen  slowly. 

"  To  nothing,"  answered  the  other  sharply.  "  I'll  put 
it  in  a  nut-shell.  I  don't  know  what  steps  we  are  going 
to  take;  I  don't  know  how  much  more  we  are  going  to 
stand,  nor  what  we  are  going  to  do.  Six  weeks  before  I 
started  I  had  no  more  notion  of  what  was  on  hand  than 
you  have,  but  I  met  a  woman  in  Cape  Town — well,  I 
won't  bother  you  about  that,  but  it's  the  woman  who 
wrote  '  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper,'  and,  if  I  hadn't  known 
beforehand,  she'd  have  taught  me  then,  that  you  can't 
afford  to  let  things  go  on  as  they  are.  My  way  isn't  clear. 
I've  seen  two  or  three  of  the  leaders,  but  their  way  isn't 
clear;  we've  all  of  us  got  divided  interests.  But  I  have 
an  idea  in  my  head  that  Rhodes  means  business  this  time. 
Now,  when  the  time  comes,  if  ever  the  time  should  come, 
when  that  idea  matures,  and  we  take  action,  we  shall  want 
some  support  at  home,  tacit,  any  way  moral,  support  and 
countenance.  I  don't  care  a  curse  who  forms  the  Govern- 
ment; I  don't  suppose  we'll  want  the  Government  ex- 
actly, though  we  may;  but  what  we're  pretty  certain  to 
want  is  Parliament,  and  I  suppose  I'm  not  going  far 
astray  in  thinking  there  are  large  sections  in  both  Houses 
led,  directly  or  indirectly,  by  the  Haywards.  That's  what 
we  might  want — representation,  a  friend  at  Court.  If  I 
send  you  a  message  asking  for  it,  you  will  send  me  a  sign, 
a  '  yes'  or  '  no,'  that  I  can  understand  ?  If  you're  no 
longer  in  Opposition,  and,  mind  you,  we  may  wait  for 
that — why,  all  the  better." 

It  seemed  a  little  thing  to  promise,  though  Karl  was 
in  such  tremendous  earnest  about  it,  solemn  even.  It 
made  Stephen  Hayward  thoughtful ;  it  must  be  borne  in 
mind  that  it  was  as  an  Imperialist  he  had  originally  won 
his  spurs. 

"  What  you  want  me  to  do  is  this :  If  you  fellows  out 
there  decide  upon  endeavouring  in  any  way  to  force  the 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  73 

Transvaal  Government  to  redress  those  grievances  you 
talk  about,  you'll  send  me  word  before  you  take  action, 
and  on  my  reply  you'll  base  your  proceedings.  Is  that 
right?" 

"  Quite  exact.  Send  us  a  word,  a  sign.  Let  us  know 
where  we  are  with  the  people  at  home !" 

"  But  I  may  have  no  power,  no  place." 

"  Oh,  rot !  We're  talking  sense,  we  two.  You'll  do 
it?" 

"  I  think  so.  Yes  ;  I  don't  think  I  am  promising  any- 
thing I  cannot  perform.  I  think,  if  all  you  want  is  to 
know  our  views  at  home  on  any  action  you  may  take,  I 
may  promise  you  shall  hear  them  from  me,"  answered 
Stephen  slowly,  not  without  reflection,  carefully,  and  after 
consideration. 

"  Then," — Karl  subsided  into  his  chair,  he  had  been 
watching  Stephen  with  some  anxiety,  "  that's  all  right. 
Now  I'll  teach  you  how  to  make  two  thousand  pounds 
breed  a  hundred  thousand.  But,  first,"  he  leaned  for- 
ward, touching  him  lightly,  sympathetically,  "  what's  the 
trouble  ?" 

Stephen  was  not  naturally  communicative  —  he  had 
never  been  in  a  position  to  afford  it ;  the  question  startled 
him.  He  had  hardly  yet  grasped  the  meaning  of  the  first 
request,  nor  known  why  he  had  acceded  to  it.  Karl  was 
so — so  crude.  Stephen  hesitated. 

"  Oh !  of  course  you  needn't  tell  me  unless  you  like. 
Of  course,  if  you  would  rather  keep  it  to  yourself,  why — 
there  the  matter  ends.  But  I've  dealt  with  more  black- 
guards in  my  time  than  you  have,  and  I  play  most  games 
of  chance  better  than  most  men;  that's  how  I'm  here. 
You're  in  trouble  —  you  want  money — it  isn't  trades- 
people ;  I  know  that  well  enough — knew  it  when  I  asked 
you,  your  position  would  keep  them  quiet,  and  besides 
there's  never  any  hurry  about  honest  debts.  Ergo,  you're 
in  a  mess  —  blackmail.  You'd  better  let  me  see  you 
through." 

It  was  impossible  to  resent  the  words.    Karl's  voice  and 


74  PIGS   IN    CLOVER 

manner  were  full  of  kindness,  of  real  interest.  The  big 
man  looked  strong,  helpful,  and  he  had  dealt  with  many 
blackguards,  no  doubt.  The  impulse  was  strong  in 
Stephen  to  consult  with  him,  to  ask  his  advice,  to  be 
guided  by  him  in  dealing  with  Jack  Forrest. 

Who  could  guess  that  Providence  would  take  the  whole 
matter  out  of  his  hands,  that  by  this  time  to-morrow  all 
fear  from  Jack  Forrest  would  have  been  at  an  end,  and 
the  secret  safe? 

"  Well,"  he  began,  hesitated  again,  stopped  short. 

"  There  is  a  man,"  suggested  Karl  helpfully. 

"  Yes,  a  blackguard,  a  broken-down  jockey,  a — "  and 
then  followed  slowly,  sometimes  helped  out,  sometimes 
embroidered  by  Karl's  quick  apprehension  and  ready  sym- 
pathy, the  whole  pitiable,  discreditable  story. 

Karl  got  up  and  walked  about  as  Stephen  had  done. 
He  was  startled.  It  was  not  the  card  he  expected  to  find 
in  his  hand.  He  had  a  standard  of  honour,  a  curious 
standard  of  his  own,  very  different  from  that  of  other 
men,  and  he  did  not  want  to  have  to  use  a  woman  in  his 
game.  It  was  a  card,  a  good  card,  and  it  had  taken  a 
trick,  but  Karl  walked  the  room  impatiently. 

"  I  was  sure  it  was  blackmail,"  he  said,  almost  to  him- 
self ;  "  that  I  was  sure  of." 

"  Why  ?"  said  Stephen  thoughtlessly. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  other  slowly,  still  off  his  guard, 
"  you're  not  always  in  your  place,  your  health  is  a  trifle 
more  precarious  in  the  Press  than  your  doctor  admits. 
I  guess  you're  a  man  like  the  rest  of  us,  you've  got  a 
non-political  side  to  your  character,  if  you  do  keep  it  out 
of  sight." 

The  color  slowly  mounted  to  the  thin,  fair  face. 

"  These  non-political  qualities  of  mine,  to  which  you  so 
gracefully  allude,  exist  only  in  your  imagination,"  said 

Stephen,  rising.  "  I  must  be  going,  I  think "  Karl 

pushed  him  back  into  his  chair. 

"  Don't  be  huffy,  man ;  I  meant  no  harm.  We'll  talk 
this  over.  I'll  find  a  way  out  for  you,  never  fear.  I  know 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  75 

rather  more  of  this  Jack  Forrest  than  you  do,  I  fancy. 
He  was  no  more  your  father's  son  than  I  am,  to  begin 
with." 

Stephen  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  stay,  and 
the  two  men  discussed,  from  the  different  standpoints  of 
their  different  natures,  the  way  to  deal  with  the  situa- 
tions which,  as  it  happened,  never  arose.  Karl  recovered 
the  confidence  his  unfortunate  allusion  had  so  nearly  for- 
feited. 

After  they  had  discussed  Aline,  they  discussed  finance, 
and  Stephen  began  to  change  his  views  about  money- 
making,  to  hope  that  it  might  not  be  necessary  to  be  dis- 
honest in  order  to  become  rich.  Also  he  began  to  under- 
stand Karl  Althaus  a  little,  and  the  qualities  that  had 
placed  him  where  he  was,  and  to  be  less  satisfied  with 
his  own  progress,  and  his  own  talents  in  achieving,  what, 
after  all,  seemed  at  the  moment  so  vague  a  success. 

But  he  only  thought  this  when  Karl  brought  out  a  case 
of  miniatures  by  Oliver,  and  made  him  envious  of  many 
things  money  could  buy. 


CHAPTER  FIYE 


IT  was  Karl  Althaus's  money  that  gave  Aline  her  di- 
vorce, although  it  was  only  accident  that  made  the  decree 
absolute.  A  period  of  anxiety  followed,  the  waiting  for 
eventualities.  It  was  impossible  to  say  at  first  whether 
the  secret  had  been,  or  could  be,  safely  guarded,  but,  when 
three  months  had  gone  by  and  nothing  had  occurred, 
no  whisper  penetrated,  no  shadow  from  the  past  fallen 
athwart  their  path,  Constantia  took  heart,  and  Aline, 
clinging  to  her,  moved  slowly  out  of  sight  of  the  precipice 
that  had  yawned  before  her. 

She  and  Constantia  went  to  Rome,  to  Florence,  to  Nice, 
to  the  Riviera,  and  the  Italian  lakes.  Constantia  took  the 
girl  wherever  society  congregated.  She  wished  her  to  be 
en  evidence,  to  be  seen  as  a  child,  with  her  dress  short,  her 
hair  hanging  down  in  ringlets.  Scandal  could  never  touch 
a  life  lived  from  the  beginning  openly,  and  in  the  sight  of 
men  and  women.  All  the  family,  who  had  promised  them- 
selves to  be  kind  to  Angela's  child  when  she  came  out, 
blamed  Constantia  seriously  for  letting  her  be  seen  at  so 
early  an  age,  but  Constantia  had  deliberately  arranged  her 
alibi,  and  bore  rebuke  with  unwonted  meekness. 

The  pair  were  back  in  London  early  in  the  year,  and 
then  Aline  was  put  under  the  care  of  governesses  and 
masters,  conventionally  educated  people  who  taught  con- 
ventional things.  She  was-  very  grateful,  deeply  grateful, 
to  aunt  and  father.  That  her  gratitude  was  silent  made  it 
no  less  genuine.  She  would  have  done  anything  they 
asked  of  her,  but  all  they  asked  of  her  was  to  mould  her- 
self into  the  form  that  society  demands.  All  her  impulses 
were  dead,  and  her  spontaneity ;  she  was  still  dazed,  and 
sometimes  she  hardly  realised  her  deliverance. 
76 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  77 

It  was  arranged  that  there  should  be  no  presentation 
until  the  following  season,  but  there  were  many  young 
friends  coming  in  and  out,  young  cousins  and  relatives, 
and  now  and  then  there  was  a  night  at  the  Opera,  always 
a  Sunday  parade  in  the  Park.  It  seemed  that  Aline  was 
never  out  of  sight.  Her  cousins  found  her  cold,  some 
of  them  used  another  word  and  said  stupid.  Lady  Violet, 
the  most  flippant  of  the  cousins,  said  she  was  like  all  old 
maids'  children !  But,  that  they  saw  her  and  talked  of 
her  was  enough  for  Constantia;  she  wished  Aline  ap- 
parently to  pass  before  their  eyes  from  childhood  to 
womanhood,  and  she  achieved  her  object.  Never  could 
the  girl's  relatives  believe  but  that  they  had  watched  her 
grow  up  innocently. 

From  childhood  to  womanhood  she  grew,  apparently  in 
the  open,  grew  into  a  young  model  of  her  aunt,  an  ac- 
knowledged beauty,  though  somewhat  too  stately,  a' 
thought  cold,  but  with  the  Hayward  carriage  and  the 
famous  Jevington  instep.  Nor  Stephen  nor  Constantia 
could  find  fault  with  her  demeanour,  and  when,  in  her 
nineteenth  year,  she  was  presented  by  her  aunt,  the  Duch- 
ess of  Alncaster,  there  was  neither  whisper  about  her 
name  nor  shadow  on  her  fame ;  her  correctness  was  as 
unquestioned  as  her  beauty.  She  had  taken  all  the  var- 
nish those  conventional  instructors  had  given  her;  she 
had  become  cased  in  it.  She  may  have  become  cramped, 
but  the  experience  of  the  natural  growth  had  proved  so 
nearly  fatal  that  all  her  desire  was  for  restraint.  Her 
immobility  helped  to  spread  the  varnish  thicker,  it  slowly 
hardened  in  the  atmosphere  about  her.  Her  individuality 
shrank  and  withered.  She  was  all  conduct  and  all  deport- 
ment, and,  though,  perhaps,  it  were  harsh  to  echo  the 
judgment  that  called  her  stupid,  it  did  not  appear  that  her 
intelligence  had  developed  very  notably  since  her  illness. 
She  was  indisputably  dull.  She  echoed  Constantia's  senti- 
ments, but  without  Constantia's  conviction,  and  she  joined, 
as  far  as  her  youth  and  subsidiary  position  permitted,  in 
Constantia's  crusade.  She  refused  introductions  to  mil- 


78  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

lionaires,  and  even  had  been  heard  to  repeat  quite  gravely 
Lady  Violet's  oft-quoted  mot,  that  they  were  only  "  pigs 
in  clover." 

"  I  cannot  think  what  Constantia  and  Stephen  mean  by 
it,"  lamented  the  Duchess,  successor  to  that  old  lady  who 
had  interfered  in  Aline's  education.  "  The  girl,  with  all 
her  beauty,  is  not  in  the  least  attractive ;  Stephen  has  no 
means  of  providing  for  her,  and  the  only  class  of  men 
who  would  be  likely  to  take  a  fancy  to  her  she  has  been 
taught  to  consider  beneath  her  notice." 

"  Oh !  Constantia  is  mad  on  blue  blood  and  noblesse 
oblige,  and  all  those  exploded  old  notions,7'  answered  the 
flippant  cousin,  "  and  as  for  Aline,  either  she  has  no  mind 
at  all,  or  she  has  not  the  pluck  to  exercise  it.  She  is  not 
allowed  to  talk  to  anything  under  four-generation  men, 
and  she  has  nothing  to  say  even  to  those.  She  watches 
old  Constantia  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes  as  if  she 
were  frightened  of  her,  and  she  moves  with  the  mechani- 
cal precision  of  clockwork.  She  is  not  a  girl  at  all,  she 
is  only  an  automaton." 

"  Her  mother  was  not  clever,  but  then,  she  was  not 
handsome  either,  and  she  had  thirty  thousand  pounds," 
said  the  Duchess  reflectively.  "  If  Stephen  had  not  spent 
the  thirty  thousand  pounds,  there  would  be  more  excuse 
for  the  way  they  have  brought  the  girl  up;  and,  as  for 
Constantia's  money,  in  the  first  place  it  is  very  tightly 
tied  up,  and  in  the  second  I  did  not  think  she  had  any  of 
it  left." 

The  Duchess  was  not  famous  for  her  consistency  in 
argument,  or,  in  fact,  for  anything  except  the  amount  of 
bugles  she  managed  to  concentrate  on  her  unwieldy  per- 
son, and  the  open  manner  in  which  she  had  rejoiced  at 
the  disappearance  of  her  husband's  mother. 

"  Why  did  Constantia  never  marry,  mother  ?  You  say 
she  had  money,  though  you  don't  seem  to  know  what  has 
become  of  it ;  she  certainly  must  have  been  a  very  good- 
looking  girl,  and  she  is  not  within  a  hundred  miles  of 
being  as  stupid  as  Aline." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  79 

"  It  is  really  most  disrespectful  of  you  to  speak  of  your 
aunt  as  old.  She  is  sixteen  years  younger  than  I  am,  very 
little  over  fifty.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  your  Aunt  Con- 
stantia  remained  unmarried  because  she  wished  to  devote 
herself  and  her  income  entirely  to  her  brother  Stephen; 
it  is  only  an  income,  by  the  way,  and  goes  back  to  the 
family  after  she  dies." 

"  But  there  must  have  been  a  love  story !" 

"  I  never  heard  of  one."  The  Duchess  was  a  gossip, 
and  the  Lady  Violet  was  peculiarly  modern,  therefore  it 
was  not  so  unnatural,  as  it  would  have  been  in  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  for  the  mother  to  give  the  girl  an  outline 
of  the  conduct  and  career  of  Stephen's  and  Constantia's 
father.  Lord  John  Hayward  was  almost  historical. 

"  Con  has  never  really  left  Stephen,"  the  Duchess  ram- 
bled on.  "  I  think  poor  Angela  must  have  felt  quite  an 
outsider." 

"  Well,  any  way,  Aline  is  not  devoted  to  anybody,  so 
there  is  no  excuse  for  her  being  unlike  other  people. 
When  she  goes  into  a  ballroom  everybody  looks  at  her, 
but  when  she  goes  out  they  all  heave  a  sigh  of  relief. 
She  won't  have  been  out  two  years  before  it  will  be  abso- 
lutely impossible  to  get  a  man  to  speak  to  her.  Dick  says 
he  felt  as  if  he  were  in  Earlswood  when  he  took  her  down 
to  dinner  the  other  night." 

"  Your  father  does  not  think  her  stupid  at  all,"  the 
Duchess  said,  with  that  complacency  with  which  she  usu- 
ally regarded  that  hereditary  legislator,  the  Duke  of  Aln- 
caster,  "  he  says  she  is  only  shy." 

"  Poor  girl !  if  father  is  going  to  be  her  advocate  her 
last  chance  is  gone."  This  was  unfilial  on  Lady  Violet's 
part,  but  not  incorrect,  for  the  Duke  was  a  bore,  and,  if 
a  bore  talks  enthusiastically  about  a  dull  person,  the  two 
become  segregated  within  their  zone  of  unrelieved  tedium. 

But  Stephen  and  Constantia  heard  none  of  the  current 
comments  on  Aline.  She  had  apparently  done  all  that 
they  asked  of  her;  she  had  seemingly  forgotten  the  epi- 
sode intervening  between  her  leaving  Hadalstone  and  her 


80  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

coming  to  them  in  Grosvenor  Square.  The  Dowager 
had  been  pleased  with  her  appearance  on  returning  from 
the  Continent,  and  had  commended  the  girl  to  her  son, 
and  her  son's  wife,  and  the  latter  had  duly  and  dutifully 
presented  Aline.  It  was  enough  for  Stephen  and  Con- 
stantia  that  no  shadow  should  rest  on  her  youth.  That 
neither  of  them  found  her  companionable  each  thought 
was  due  to  the  intervention  of  the  other.  In  truth,  both 
their  lives  were  full  without  her.  Although  the  ministry, 
which  seemed  to  be  tottering  when  Aline  returned  to  them, 
was  still  standing  when  she  made  her  timid  bow  to  her 
Sovereign,  Stephen  was  none  the  less  hopeful,  none  the 
less  full  of  electoral  and  Party  affairs. 

He  had  also  other  interests  now.  Karl  had  not  per- 
suaded him  to  joint  the  Board  of  the  Chartered  Company, 
nor  any  other  directorate,  for  Stephen  held  the  strongest 
possible  opinion  as  to  the  necessity  of  separating  politics 
from  finance.  But  Karl  had  allotted  certain  shares  to 
Stephen,  and,  when  Stephen  remonstrated,  Karl  said  he 
was  sorry  he  had  misunderstood  him,  he  thought  he  was 
interested  in  the  water-supply  of  Johannesburg.  Stephen 
was  annoyed,  but  admited  that,  when  Karl  had  spoken 
of  a  system  of  irrigation  and  waterworks  for  Johannes- 
burg, he  had  expressed  himself  favourably.  Still,  he  ob- 
jected to  his  holding,  and,  on  Karl's  advice,  directed  his 
bankers  to  sell  his  allotment.  The  allotment  had  been 
at  par;  the  market  price  was  promptly  four.  Stephen 
thus  unexpectedly,  and,  through  no  fault  of  his  own,  be- 
came possessed  of  capital.  This  capital  he  invested  on 
Karl's  recommendation,  and  both  Constantia  and  Aline 
benefited  indirectly  by  the  resultant  dividends. 

When  Karl  left  England,  an  event  that  ante-dated 
Aline's  presentation,  he  did  not  lose  sight  of  Stephen's 
interests,  nor  his  interest  in  Stephen.  They  corresponded, 
and  Stephen,  profiting  by  this  as  far  as  he  legitimately 
could,  half  as  far  as  Karl  considered  he  might,  became 
ever  more  convinced  of  his  correspondent's  shrewdness 
in  money  matters. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  81 

It  is  strange,  but  true,  that  the  Duchess  and  her  shrill 
and  attenuated  daughter,  the  Lady  Violet,  were  little  more 
interested  in  Aline,  in  her  own  and  father's  fortunes,  than 
was  Karl  Althaus  up  in  Johannesburg,  trying  to  reconcile 
irreconcilable  elements,  and  full  of  big  affairs.  He  was 
one  of  a  crowd,  seen  in  England  as  shadows,  hardly  real, 
in  Cape  Town  more  vividly  as  struggling  figures  on  a 
dim  horizon  black  with  war  clouds.  Karl  had  had  no 
desire  to  meddle  with  politics — politics  were  forced  upon 
him.  His  life  had  been  spent  in  money-making;  to 
wrench  himself  away,  to  divorce  himself  from  his  life's 
scheme,  was  not  the  work  of  a  day.  When  the  National 
Union,  representing  the  intelligence  of  Johannesburg,  first 
invited  him,  as  one  of  the  capitalists,  to  join  them,  his 
reply  had  been  an  unhesitating  negative.  He  had  his 
hands  full  enough,  he  told  them,  without  Imperialism,  or 
Anti-Krugerism,  to  complicate  his  dealings. 

But,  on  his  way  to  England,  before  that  memorable 
visit  during  which  we  have  seen  his  endeavouring  to  per- 
suade Stephen  Hayward  of  the  importance  of  South  Afri- 
can affairs,  he  had  stayed  a  month  in  Cape  Town,  and 
there  a  little  woman,  whom  he  had  sought  for  far  other 
reasons,  had  taught  him,  in  some  subtle  way  that  little 
women  have,  that  there  were  things  in  life  more  worth 
having  than  money  or  works  of  art.  Among  the  things 
she  had  taught  him  were  worth  the  having,  and  which, 
under  her  influence,  he  had  begun  to  dimly  realise,  was 
his  place  in  the  Empire,  his  stake  as  an  Englishman. 
When  he  had  spoken  to  Stephen  of  what  would  or  might 
come,  he  spoke  out  of  the  wisdom  that  little  woman  had 
taught  him.  It  was  an  old  story  now,  told  often  and 
differently,  but,  in  truth,  the  position  of  affairs  in  the 
Transvaal  while  Karl  Althaus  was  in  England  laying 
plans,  whilst  Aline  was  making  her  unfortunate  experi- 
ment in  matrimony,  and  Stephen  Hayward  his  first  in 
finance,  was  well-nigh  desperate. 

The  two  races,  Boer  and  British,  were  living,  side  by 
side,  under  almost  impossible  conditions.  Authority  was 

6 


82  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

with  the  first ;  industry,  intelligence,  capital,  with  the  lat- 
ter. The  struggle  was  inevitable;  that  Karl  Althaus 
should  be  involved  in  it  was  due  to  Joan  de  Groot. 

Karl  Althaus,  before  he  had  stopped  at  Cape  Town  on 
his  way  to  England,  had  been  satisfied  to  fight  the  Boers 
with  their  own  weapons.  He,  too,  had  subsidised,  under- 
mined, bribed,  intrigued.  Meanness  and  lying,  craft  and 
diplomacy,  had  been  the  weapons  with  which  the  heads 
of  the  great  mining  industry  had  met  the  Chadbands  of 
the  first  Raad.  But,  after  Karl  had  met  Joan  de  Groot, 
and,  through  her,  had  met  the  men  who  were  moving, 
impelled  by  a  motive,  perhaps  patriotic,  perhaps  personal, 
towards  a  great  end,  he  seemed  to  see  his  way  more 
clearly,  and  it  was  a  different  way.  There  was  a  lumi- 
nosity in  the  soul  of  the  big  South  African  millionaire  that 
made  him  reflect  a  little  light  very  largely. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  the  source  of  that  light.  Before 
Karl  went  to  England,  the  authoress  of  "  The  Kaffir  and 
his  Keeper,"  and  the  Prime  Minister  of  Cape  Colony  had, 
jointly  and  separately,  persuaded  the  multi-millionaire  that 
his  financial  interests  were  threatened  by  Boer  ambitions, 
Boer  aggressions.  He  went  home  fully  persuaded  that 
something  must  be  done.  What  that  something  was  had 
not  been  fully  explained  to  him.  But  he  had  been  advised 
to  pour  into  the  ears  of  certain  men  the  position  of  their 
fellow  Britons  in  the  Transvaal ;  and  it  had  been  pointed 
out  to  him  that,  through  their  connection  with  Lord 
Sarum,  the  Haywards  as  a  family,  and  Stephen  Hayward 
in  particular,  represented  more  than  their  or  his  imme- 
diate position.  Hence  his  seeking  out  of  Stephen,  for 
Karl  believed  in  men,  not  multitudes.  And  he  returned 
to  South  Africa  in  good  spirits,  for  he  considered  he  had 
tapped  the  source  of  power,  obtained  the  key  to  the  future 
cabinet. 

He  told  this  to  the  Prime  Minister  of  Cape  Colony,  who 
met  him  on  his  return,  eager  for  news,  strong,  and  full  of 
indomitable  purpose,  quite  ready  for  reinforcements.  The 
Prime  Minister  carried  him  off  to  Groot  Schurr,  and  took 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  83 

two  days  to  extract  from  him  all  he  wanted  to  know.  His 
plans  were  fairly  clear.  The  game  lay  as  on  a  chess-board 
before  him.  This  big,  unwieldy  knight,  this  Karl,  whom 
he  had  been  moving,  must  be  brought  again  into  position. 

"  A  weak  Government  like  this  isn't  of  use  to  any  one," 
Karl  told  him.  "  I  tell  you  the  Liberal  Party  has  gone  to 
pot  over  there,  it's  weak,  it's  vacillating,  it's  decayed,  it's 
effete.  It's  the  strong  Opposition  you've  got  to  tackle, 
not  the  falling  Government." 

"  You're  right,  Althaus,  you've  got  the  ropes  at  once. 
Liberalism  is  dead  as  a  door  nail.  It  spells  Individualism, 
and,  thank  God,  England  can't  stand  that  as  a  political 
standard.  The  Government  is  doomed.  The  Haywards 
and  Job  Chesham  will  divide  the  power  when  the  time 
comes.  You  couldn't  have  done  better  than  tackle 
Stephen  Hayward ;  he  has  got  all  the  brains  of  the  fam- 
ily. I'm  not  saying  much,  but  one  might  say  a  bit  more 
and  not  go  off  the  truth.  Chesham  is  a  friend  of  mine; 
Chesham  knows  pretty  straight  what  is  going  on  over 
here,  though  I  can't  bring  him  into  line  with  our  way  of 
tackling  it." 

"And  what  is  your  way  of  tackling  it?  That's  the 
point  you've  left  me  a  little  hazy  about.  You  must  have 
something  up  your  sleeve;  it's  not  a  fighting  force  up 
there." 

"  You'll  see  soon  enough.  You'll  join  us,  you  say, 
whatever  we  decide?" 

"  Well,"  Karl  answered  bluntly ;  "  I  promised  Mrs.  de 
Groot,  and  I'm  not  going  to  back  out." 

"  What  we  are  aiming  at  is  the  Transvaal  for  the  Em- 
pire. What  they  are  aiming  at  is  South  Africa  for  the 
Transvaalers.  What  we've  got  to  do  is  to  try  and  hold 
out  until  the  Unionists  are  ruling  the  roost  over  there. 
What  we've  got  to  be  prepared  for  is  being  unable  to 
hold  on  until  then.  Do  you  see?" 

"  Not  as  clearly  as  I  should  like  to.  But,  as  I  told  you, 
I'll  go  it  blind.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"  Use  your  position  to  force  the  knowledge  of  theirs 


84  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

upon  your  fellow-countrymen.  Tell  'em  you  made  a  for- 
tune, because,  when  you  were  not  helped,  you  helped 
yourself.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Helped  myself,  did  I?" 

"  Of  course,  and  I've  helped  myself.  And  we're  where 
we  are.  Well,  England  is  not  going  to  help  the  Johannes- 
burghers  unless  they  show  they  can  help  themselves.  Go 
up  there  and  preach  it,  that's  your  ticket;  ram  it  down 
their  throats,  make  'em  get  ready." 

"  Right  you  are ;  I  said  I'd  go  it  blind,  and  you've  got 
the  deal." 

"  Teach  'em  not  to  show  their  teeth,  but  to  keep  them 
filed.  D'ye  understand?  When  I'm  ready,  and  you  other 
fellows  are  ready  with  that  lesson,  we  can  go  on." 

"  Bechuanaland  ?"   suggested  Karl. 

"  That's  my  business,"  answered  the  empire-maker. 

Karl  waited  a  day  or  two  longer  in  Cape  Town.  He 
had  to  meet  Van  Biene,  for  Karl  Althaus  was  a  man  of 
large  affairs,  and  Van  Biene  was  his  lawyer.  Also  he 
wanted  to  see  Joan  de  Groot,  wanted  desperately  to  see 
that  little  woman  again.  But,  whilst  Karl  had  been  pay- 
ing his  flying  visit  to  England,  the  authoress  of  "  The 
Kaffir  and  his  Keeper"  had  gone  up  country  with  her 
brother,  and  Karl,  to  his  bitter  disappointment,  missed 
the  encouragement  and  approval  on  which  he  had  counted 
securely. 

By  the  time  he  returned  to  Johannesburg  events  had 
begun  to  move.  He  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a 
population  inflamed,  uneasy,  ominous.  At  Cape  Town 
the  air  had  been  full  of  rumours,  at  Johannesburg  the 
rumours  faded  before  ugly  facts.  The  taxes  wrung  from 
the  Uitlanders  were  being  spent  on  arms ;  a  big  fort  was 
building  at  Pretoria;  the  men,  who  were  not  allowed  a 
voice  in  the  government  of  the  land  they  had  enriched, 
were  ordered  to  fight  under  Boer  leadership,  to  wrest 
territory,  the  possessions  of  natives,  for  their  tyrants. 

The  town  was  in  an  uproar  over  the  question  of  the 
commando.  The  men  refused  to  obey  the  order  to  fight, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  85 

and  were  taunted  as  cowards.  Karl  heard  the  Boer  opin- 
ion of  rheineks,  of  Englishmen;  it  was  forced  down  his 
throat,  and  now  he  no  longer  cared  to  swallow  it.  He 
helped  with  his  purse  the  men  who  were  standing  out. 
From  the  authoress  of  "  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper"  he 
had  seen  in  a  new  light  the  treatment  the  natives  would 
receive  from  their  conquerors.  From  Stephen  Hayward 
he  had  gathered  incidentally,  but  no  less  definitely,  that 
neither  Rhodes  nor  Joan  de  Groot  overvalued  their  birth- 
right .  No  Englishman  should  fight  to  win  slaves  for  the 
Boers  if  he,  Karl  Althaus,  could  prevent  it. 

For  that  moment,  however,  revolution  was  averted. 
The  Commissioner  came  up,  some  display  of  firmness  was 
made,  and  the  obnoxious  order  was  withdrawn.  But 
Karl  began  to  see  his  way  ever  more  clearly,  and,  whole- 
heartedly now,  he  threw  in  his  lot,  and  the  lot  of  his  firm, 
with  the  National  Union.  This  was  in  the  autumn  of 
1894,  when  the  Derby  win  had  secured  the  Liberal  party 
an  unfortunate  renewal  of  the  lease  of  power,  and  no 
Imperialist  could  safely  rely  upon  the  Government  at 
home  for  support  or  countenance. 

The  word  came  to  Johannesburg  from  Cape  Town  that 
the  National  Union  must  lie  low,  must  wait  and  watch. 
It  was  all  new  to  Karl  Althaus,  who  was  a  financier  by 
instinct  and  ability,  and  only  a  politician  by  accident.  He 
had  been  told  he  had  done  well  to  secure  Stephen  Hay- 
ward  and  his  interest,  but  after  all,  they  must  wait  until 
the  party  Hayward  represented  came  into  power  before 
they  attempted  to  profit  by  any  aid  from  him.  The  visit 
of  Loch  to  Johannesburg  was  the  culminating  situation 
in  the  first  scene  of  the  revolt  of  the  Uitlanders. 

Karl  went  back  to  finance,  it  was  a  milieu  in  which  he 
found  himself  more  at  home.  For  the  time  being  the 
National  Union  resolved  itself  into  a  talkee-talkee  club 
of  journalists  and  lawyers,  and  vexed  his  soul  with  dia- 
lectics. 

The  offices  of  the  Goldfields  Company  in  Johannesburg 
were  the  headquarters  of  the  association.  There,  in  the 


86  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

big  room  with  the  oriel  window  that  commanded  Sim- 
monds  Street,  Karl  discussed  the  situation,  for  the  thou- 
sand and  first  time,  with  Louis.  Louis  had  come  from 
Kimberley  at  his  summons,  and  come  gladly.  South 
Africa  was  the  wrong  environment  for  Louis  Althaus. 
He  had  often  told  Karl  so,  and  Karl  had  released  him 
whenever  it  had  been  possible.  Karl  had  summoned 
Louis  now  to  Johannesburg,  but  had  given  him  to  under- 
stand it  was  en  route  for  home. 

The  offices  of  the  Goldfields  Company  had  been  erected 
with  some  pretentiousness,  some  attempt  at  architecture. 
The  room  in  which  the  Althauses  had  their  interview  was 
furnished  as  an  office,  but  handsomely,  with  oak  furniture 
and  green  leather  chairs,  maps  of  various  properties 
adorning  the  walls.  Beyond  was  the  clerks'  room,  the 
room  where,  in  the  days  to  come,  the  Reform  Committee 
were  to  sleep  and  guard — nothing,  not  even  the  personal 
safety  that  was  their  first  consideration. 

Karl,  as  usual,  walked  up  and  down  while  he  talked, 
big,  vehement,  overwhelming.  Louis,  contemplating  his 
own  slender  foot,  caressing  his  imperial,  wandering  in 
fancy  already  to  Poole's,  and  giving  a  careless  retrospec- 
tive glance  over  his  wardrobe,  felt  a  twinge  of  pity  for 
his  brother  by  adoption,  because,  although  he  had  come 
straight  from  London,  the  tweeds  that  he  wore  were  so 
evidently  of  Cape  Town  cut. 

They  had  got  through  their  greetings,  warm  ones,  for 
these  two,  save  for  each  other,  were  alone  in  the  world. 
And  now  they  would  be  together  but  a  few  hours.  Karl 
had  received  instructions  from  Cape  Town  to  "  slow 
down,"  to  keep  for  the  present  to  strictly  constitutional 
lines  in  case  of  any  agitation,  to  forget  the  wild  talk  that 
had  been  prevalent  and  encouraged  before  the  Commis- 
sioner's interference.  But  Karl  came  into  line  with  diffi- 
culty, he  saw  many  points  that  escaped  the  wire-pullers 
in  Cape  Town.  An  idea  had  been  put  into  his  head,  and 
there  it  stayed  obstinately.  He  told  Louis  all  about  it, 
that  in  his  opinion  there  was  now  only  one  way  to  secure 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  87 

good  government  and  justice,  and  that  way  was  armed 
revolution.  The  inspiration  had  been  given  him,  and  he 
could  not  rid  himself  of  it.  That  he  should  select  Louis 
as  a  confidant  was  characteristic  of  Karl.  He  had,  not- 
withstanding many  shocks  and  incidents  that  should  have 
opened  his  eyes,  a  very  tolerant  view  of  all  Louis  Alt- 
haus's  failings,  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  abilities,  a  great 
admiration  for  his  charm  of  manner  and  indisputably 
handsome  person.  For  Louis  was  the  antithesis  of  Karl, 
there  was  not  the  slightest  suggestion  of  roughness  about 
him,  he  was  so  supremely  polished  that  one  could  almost 
see  him  glisten ;  even  his  clothes  had  a  gloss  on  them. 

"  You  must  get  to  London,  Louis.  I  /jon't  think 
Rhodes,  or  any  other  of  them,  has  quite  grasped  the  situ- 
ation up  here ;  any  way,  I  was  not  prepared  for  it.  There 
is  no  end  to  the  villainies  they  are  perpetrating.  The  last 
move  to  prevent  us  getting  a  judgment  if  we  get  a  verdict 
kills  any  possibility  of  justice.  The  Union  are  petitioning 
the  Landrost  again;  they  might  just  as  well  petition 
Malacho." 

"  Why  on  earth  are  you  mixing  yourself  up  in  it  ? 
That's  what  I  can't  understand." 

"  Oh !  you'll  soon  understand  that.  It's  life  and  death 
to  the  gold  industry." 

"  Twaddle." 

"  I  mean  it." 

"  Well,  go  on.    What  am  I  to  do?" 

"  Go  home,  and  get  public  opinion  on  our  side.  It's 
Rhodes's  belief  that,  when  there's  a  change  of  govern- 
ment, there  will  be  a  change  of  policy.  I've  broken  the 
ice ;  practically  I've  secured  Stephen  Hayward ;  but  there 
must  be  some  one  on  the  spot  to  use  the  right  moment 
when  it  comes." 

"  Why  Stephen  Hayward  ?"  interrupted  Louis,  looking 
up  quickly  from  the  consideration  of  his  really  elegant 
foot  and  ankle.  "Why  not  Stanley?  He  was  the  last 
Conservative  Colonial  Secretary." 

"  Oh,  they  will  have  to  give  the  loaves  and  fishes  to  the 


88  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Unionists.  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  He's  the 
best  man  they've  got,  a  nice  fellow  too,  knows  more  about 
marks  on  china  than  any  Englishman  I  ever  met." 

"  How  on  earth  did  you  get  hold  of  Stephen  Hay- 
ward  ?" 

"  He  was  in  a  bit  of  a  mess,  and  I  helped  him  out ; 
he  helped  me  once.  I  was  making  a  fool  of  myself  over 
a  famille  verte  vase,  Ming  period,  the  cleverest  fake  you 
ever  saw." 

"  In  a  mess  ?"  Louis  questioned  Karl  with  interest. 
"  What  had  he  done  ?  how  did  you  get  to  know  ?" 

"  No,  no,  nothing  at  all ;  nothing  to  do  with  himself. 
He's  got  a  daughter,  some  trouble  with  his  daughter,  it's 
all  right  now." 

Louis  curled  the  ends  of  his  moustache  and  looked  self- 
conscious.  It  was  a  way  he  had  when  women  were  men- 
tioned. He  had  infallible  theories,  and  unfathomable 
interest  in  women.  Whenever  he  heard  of  a  woman  who 
was,  or  had  been,  in  trouble,  he  had  the  air  and,  in  truth, 
the  belief  that,  whatever  the  incident,  it  was  only  accident 
prevented  him  from  being  the  hero  of  it.  Karl  did  not 
satisfy  his  curiosity  about  Aline  Hayward,  he  was  vexed 
with  himself  for  having  mentioned  it,  and  tried  to  slur 
it  over  and  erase  what  he  had  said.  But  Louis  made  a 
mental  note,  and  only  permitted  the  subject  to  be  changed 
when  he  had  no  choice. 

Louis's  interest  in  revolution  was  very  perfunctory. 
Karl  had  talked  to  him  of  little  else  since  his  arrival, 
and  yet,  notwithstanding  Karl's  enthusiasm,  he  had 
stirred  none  in  Louis.  Of  course,  he  would  buy  arms, 
Louis  liked  buying,  patronising,  playing  at  power,  and 
he  would  keep  Stephen  Hayward  informed  of  every  step 
they  contemplated,  or,  at  least,  of  every  step  they  took. 
All  this  he  promised  Karl. 

Louis  was  glad  to  get  his  orders  for  London.  South 
Africa  was  no  field  for  him;  he  knew  that.  He  and 
Karl  had  been  continually  separate  since  he  had  reached 
adult  age.  London,  Paris,  Vienna,  had  been  Louis'  so- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  89 

journing  places.  He  had  generally  carried  out  Karl's 
instructions  straightforwardly,  recognising,  instinctively 
perhaps,  either  how  much  he  owed  the  older  man,  or  how 
impolitic  it  would  be  to  play  him  false.  The  firm  had 
grown  into  a  large  one  with  colossal  international  inter- 
ests. Louis,  trusted  implicitly  by  Karl,  had  frequently 
been  the  latter's  agent.  Forgetting  how  simple  his  in- 
structions were,  how  clear,  and,  remembering  only  how 
everything  had  prospered  with  him,  Karl  had  grown  to 
look  upon  Louis,  notwithstanding  some  disappointments, 
some  shocks  even,  as  having  something  of  his  own  fibre. 
These  shocks,  disappointments,  divergencies,  had  ob- 
structed him  in  his  desire  to  make  Louis  a  partner  in 
the  firm,  but  pecuniarily  the  younger  man  suffered  little 
from  the  exclusion. 

Louis  had  no  misgivings  as  to  his  power  to  carry  out 
the  diplomatic  work  of  which  Karl  now  spoke,  and  with 
which  Karl  now  entrusted  him.  Louis  had  no  doubt  of 
himself.  He  appreciated  Karl's  success,  though  he  was 
apt  to  attribute  much  of  it  to  luck.  But  all  Karl's  quali- 
ties he  saw  in  himself  transmitted  into  something  finer, 
more  delicate,  more  tactful.  There  was  nothing  of  which 
Louis  Althaus  did  not  think  himself  capable.  That  he  had 
achieved  nothing  in  no  way  interfered  with  this  estimate. 

He  had  a  way  of  talking  of  Karl,  and  of  Karl's  good- 
ness to  him,  that  somehow  or  other  made  all  this  obvious. 

"  There's  no  one  like  my  adopted  brother  Karl,"  he 
would  say,  "  he  has  been  father,  mother,  everything  to 
me  since  we  were  both  left  orphans."  Then,  with  that 
deprecating  shrug  of  his  mobile  shoulders — one  of  the 
foreign  habits  he  had  acquired,  that  went  with  the  im- 
perial and  the  dark  moustachios,  he  would  add,  "  But 
much  as  I  appreciate  him,  I  must  say" — and  the  things 
he  felt  himself  compelled  to  refer  to  were  all  true.  Karl 
wore  shocking  boots,  square-toed,  hideous,  his  clothes 
were  very  often  atrocious,  he  was  loud  in  public  places, 
he  had  more  than  once  played  poker  through  an  evening 
and  night  right  into  the  following  day,  he  could  drink 


90  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

a  tumblerful  of  whisky  neat,  and  he  very  frequently 
did.  These  were  unimportant  details,  and  Karl's  friends 
smiled  at  them,  but  women  noted  with  an  approving  eye 
the  difference  between  Louis  Althaus,  gentleman,  and 
Karl  Althaus,  millionaire.  They  were  a  little  sorry  for 
Louis  that  his  adopted  brother  should  not  be  more  worthy 
of  his  refined  taste,  and  they  thought  well  of  him  because 
he  cared  so  much  for  his  unfashionable  guardian. 

Karl  rarely  spoke  of  Louis  except  to  his  intimates,  and 
never  discussed  him,  but  all  Johannesburg  and  all  Pre- 
toria and  all  Cape  Town,  in  fact,  all  English-speaking 
South  Africa,  knew  that  Karl  Althaus  loved  this  elegant 
Louis. 

Having  discussed,  in  its  various  phases  and  aspects,  the 
revolution  that  was  to  be  engineered,  without  Karl  real- 
ising how  very  vague  was  Louis's  interest  in  the  imperial 
side  of  the  question,  and  how  very  doubtfully  he  regarded 
the  value  to  the  firm  of  the  economical  side,  the  brothers 
found  time,  before  Louis  left  for  Cape  Town,  to  discuss 
business  matters. 

Karl's  habit  of  walking  about  when  he  talked  fidgeted 
Louis,  but,  when  Louis  was  not  personally  contradicted 
or  crossed,  or  made  to  see  his  shortcomings,  he  was  a 
man  of  imperturbable  good  temper,  the  unreliable  good 
temper  of  the  completely  self-satisfied.  He  never  com- 
plained that  Karl's  restlessness  was  unpleasant  to  him. 
He  sat  on  the  easiest  chair  in  the  room,  and  faced  the 
light,  and  listened. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  Geldenrief ,  Louis  ?" 

"  Do  I  remember  a  mine  that  cost  us  a  quarter  of  a 
million,  that  panned  out  before  we'd  got  back  the  ex- 
penses of  the  prospectus!  Not  that  I  think  you  were 
clever  over  that  affair.  You  could  have  kept  back  the 
report  until  the  market  had  absorbed  at  least  half  the 
shares.  We  could  have  got  out  with  the  loss  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand." 

"  And  damned  every  other  venture  we  ever  put  out ! 
No !  no !  There's  only  one  way  of  doing  big  business,  if 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  91 

you  want  to  go  on  doing  it,  and  that  is  to  do  it  straight. 
I  found  that  out  a  bit  late,  but  you  can  take  it  from  me 
there's  no  doubt  about  it.  But  that's  not  the  question. 
The  reef  was  on  the  land  right  enough,  I  always  knew  it 
was ;  we  got  down  a  hundred  feet,  and — it  pinched  out." 

"  And  you  sent  out  the  report,  and  on  the  strength  of 
the  report  the  shares  went  down  to  half-a-crown,  and  the 
syndicate  lost  its  money." 

"  Exactly.  Well,  suppose  I  know  what  direction  the 

reef  took,  and  that "  Karl  suddenly  came  over  to  his 

brother,  lowering  his  voice,  "  and  that  it  is  about  the 
widest,  richest,  finest  reef  on  the  whole  of  the  Raad." 

Louis  looked  up,  and  there  was  greed  in  those  soft 
eyes,  round  those  thin  lips  under  the  dark  moustache,  in 
the  lines  that  tightened  about  the  mouth,  and  there  was 
eagerness. 

"  And  the  syndicate,  and  the  shareholders  know  noth- 


ing 


"  No,  nobody  knows  it  but  you  and  me." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  it's  worth  ?" 

"  Millions,  Louis,  millions." 

"  And  you're  worrying  yourself  about  the  franchise !" 

"  Oh,  rot !  I  don't  care  a  damn  about  the  franchise ; 
I've  told  you  so  before.  I  care  for  our  rights,  I  don't 
care  a  damn  about  how  we  get  'em.  The  Geldenrief  is 
a  case  in  point.  Under  decent  Government,  it  could  have 
been  worked  at  a  profit  until  the  Company  and  everybody 
had  got  to  know  what  nobody  knows  now  but  me  and, 
perhaps,  one  or  two  other  people.  That  Bewaarplatzen 
scandal  was  the  first  nail  in  the  coffin  of  the  Geldenrief." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  There  was  no  doubt 
about  Louis's  eager  interest  now,  it  narrowed  his  eyes, 
hardened  the  lines  round  his  mouth;  he  was  still  hand- 
some, but  the  poetry  went  out  of  his  beauty.  The  face 
disappointed  when  one  looked  from  the  broad  forehead 
down  to  the  narrow  chin.  In  his  happiest  moments  it 
was  the  broad  forehead  and  splendid  eyes  that  attracted 
attention.  But,  when  one  talked  of  nr»*aey,  it  was  the 


92  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

lower  part  of  the  face  that  seemed  to  come  into  promi- 
nence, a  certain  Mephistophelian  cunning  became  mani- 
fest, the  lips  grew  thinner,  and  seemed  to  contract. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  I'm  goin' — "  Karl  resumed  his  restless  walk,  "  I'm 
goin'  to  show  the  syndicate  that  trusted  Oldberger,  Alt- 
haus  &  Co.,  and  the  jobbers  that  hold  the  shares,  and  the 
public  that  bought  a  few  of  them,  I'm  goin'  " — he  burst 
out  with,  he  shouted,  "  I'm  goin',  by  God,  I'm  goin'  to 
make  all  their  fortunes."  His  voice  fell  again  as  he  emp- 
tied his  glass.  "  I  don't  know  how  I'm  goin'  to  work  it. 
For,  though  I  went  up  three  months  ago  with  nothing 
else  in  my  mind,  something  occurred — "  he  hesitated, 
"  many  things  occurred,  to  put  it  out  of  my  mind." 

He  tossed  off  a  tumbler  of  whisky  and  soda,  from 
which  the  soda  had  been  omitted,  and  he  pushed  the  bot- 
tle over  to  Louis,  but  Louis  shook  his  head;  he  was 
abstemious. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that?"   Karl  asked. 

But  Louis  did  not  commit  himself. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  more  about  it." 

"  So  you  shall.  You  remember  we  leased  the  land 
from  Piet  de  Groot ;  we  wanted  the  whole  estate,  but  the 
farm  he  refused  to  sell,  talked  a  lot  of  twaddle  about  his 
grandfather  having  reclaimed  it,  and  his  father  and  him- 
self being  born  there,  and  all  the  rubbish  they  do  talk 
when  they're  going  to  swindle  you.  Well,  we  got  a  lease 
of  the  land,  and  of  a  certain  amount  of  dumping  ground. 
I  got  an  inkling  of  this  reef  business"  (the  inkling  had 
cost  Karl  three  months'  hard  work,  and  about  ten  thou- 
sand pounds  in  hard  cash),  "and  I  claimed  the  ground. 
Then  this  wretched  Bewaarplatz  business  was  dragged 
in,  brought  before  the  Groundwet,  and  there  it  sticks. 
Meanwhile " 

"Meanwhile?" 

Karl,  always  restless,  was  exceptionally  so  just  now. 

"  As  I've  told  you,  I  got  in  with  the  crowd  who  mean 
tc  make  the  Groundwet  listen  to  reason.  The  Geldenrief 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  93 

has  nothing  to  do  with  politics,  but  perhaps  it  showed 
me  more  clearly  than  anything  else  could  have  done  how 
we're  all  being  swindled.  I  couldn't  touch  the  Bewaar- 
platz  without  De  Groot's  leave.  De  Groot's  a  member 
of  the  first  Raad,  second  cousin  or  something  or  other  to 
the  old  thief " 

"Then  what  chance  have  we  got?  How  are  we  to 
get  hold  of  it?" 

"  I'm  coming  to  that."  But  he  didn't  come  very 
quickly,  though  Louis's  attention  was  fully  riveted. 

"  Piet  de  Groot's  got  softening  of  the  brain,  creeping 
paralysis,  they  call  it,  and  I — I've  met  Joan  de  Groot." 

Karl's  face  softened,  his  voice  grew  husky;  he  took 
another  pull  at  the  whisky  before  he  went  on. 

"  Louis,  did  you  ever  meet  Mrs.  de  Groot  ?  She  was 
up  here  for  a  few  months,  an  Englishwoman,  sister  of 
John  Finnes,  the  Cape  Town  Advocate-General.  She 
married  Piet  when  she  was  seventeen.  He  treated  her 
like  the  brute  that  he  is,  and  she  left  him;  she  was  in 
Pretoria  for  some  time." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  woman  who  has  just  published  a 
book  called  '  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper'  ?" 

"Yes.    Did  you  know  her?" 

"  No.  Not  my  line  of  country — a  wretched,  little,  scrib- 
bling half-caste." 

"  Oh !   don't  be  a  fool." 

Louis  was  absolutely  surprised;  he  got  up  from  his 
seat. 

"  Oh !  sit  still,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  have  met  her." 

"  Well !   what  has  she  got  to  do  with  us  ?" 

"  I'm  coming  to  it ;  give  a  fellow  time.  Louis  !  she's 
the  most  fascinating,  charming,  delightful  woman  I  ever 
met  in  my  life,  and,  damn  it,  she's  as  honest  as  the  day." 

"  But  what's  she  got  to  do  with  the  Geldenrief,  that's 
what  I'm  waiting  to  get  at,  that's  what  I  want  to  know?" 

"  The  reef  goes  under  the  farm,  dips  on  the  curve,  and 
widens  out,  and  the  widest,  richest  of  it,  we  reckon,  is 
just  under  Piet's  farm.  We've  got  the  shaft,  we've  got 


94  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

the  machinery,  we've  got  nearly  two  hundred  thousand 
pounds  lying  on  the  outcrop,  and — Piet  won't  deal !" 

Then  Louis's  eyes  questioned  as  well  as  his  voice. 

"  And  she " 

"  Inherits  the  farm  under  her  marriage  settlement." 

"Phew!"  Louis  sighed  with  relief.  "Well,  if  she's 
got  it,  we've  got  it,  I  suppose.  You  know  her,  have  seen 
her,  been  with  her,  got  her  promise?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Never  so  much  as  asked  her  for  it.  Went  there  on 
purpose,  and  hardly  mentioned  it,  forget,  in  fact,  whether 
I  did  or  didn't.  She  drove  it  out  of  my  head,  drove  every- 
thing out  of  my  head.  I  meant  to  see  her  again  when  I 
returned  on  my  way  up  here,  but  she  was  at  Wynberg ;  I 
just  missed  her." 

"  Drove  a  million  out  of  your  head !  A  little,  scribbling 
Dutchwoman !" 

"  What's  a  million  more  or  less !  Louis,  I'll  show  you 
the  woman  she  is.  Poor  as  church  mice,  the  lot  of  them, 
mind  you.  Began  with  nothing,  and  have  got  it  still. 
Well,  ever  since  that  book  of  hers  came  out,  she  has  been 
overwhelmed  with  offers  from  London  newspapers  to 
give  her  views  on  this  and  that  and  the  other  question. 
Five  thousand  pounds  I  offered  her,  five  thousand  golden 
sovereigns — and  I  don't  believe  the  woman  has  got  five 
hundred  in  the  world — to  give  my  views  on  a  certain  sub- 
ject instead  of  her  own.  The  Jackson  affair,  in  fact.  She 
laughed  at  me,  Louis!  So  help  me,  God!  she  laughed 
at  me.  Did  you  ever  meet  a  woman  like  that?" 

"  I've  met  every  sort  of  woman,"  answered  Louis,  with 
a  caress  of  his  moustache  and  a  softening  of  the  eyes. 

"  Oh !  I  know  you've  been  a  devil  of  a  fellow  for 
women,"  Karl  had  had  reason  to  know  it  ever  since  Louis 
was  fourteen,  "  but  have  you  ever  met  a  good  'un  ?  I 
don't  mean  one  like  this,  for  there  isn't  such  another,  but 
one  you  couldn't  ask  for  the  things  you  most  wanted  of 
them?" 

"  Never,"  smiled  Louis.  "  Never,"  he  repeated,  with 
a  satisfied  laugh. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  95 

Poor  old  Karl!  Fancy  comparing  himself  with  Louis 
where  women  were  concerned. 

"  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  tackle  her." 

"  I'm  damned  if  I  quite  know  what  I  want.  We'll  have 
to  make  little  Joan  a  rich  woman,  whether  she  cares  for 
it  or  not.  She's  just  as  mad  on  a  united  South  Africa 
under  the  British  flag  as  Rhodes  is.  Half  the  interest  she 
took  in  me " 

"  She  did  take  an  interest  in  you,  then  ?" 

"  Was  due  to  the  fact  that  she  was  keen  on  the  capital- 
ists joining  the  National  Union." 

"  I  begin  to  see  daylight ;  I  begin  to  see  the  meaning 
of  your  new-born  patriotism." 

"  I  knew  she  was  right,"  said  Karl  sharply ;  "  I  knew 
we  ought  not  to  sit  down  and  see  our  country  shoved  in 
the  background." 

"  And  the  Geldenrief  dumping  ground  claimed,"  inter- 
posed Louis  with  a  laugh. 

"  A  man  may  have  a  dozen  motives.  I'm  opening  my- 
self out  to  you.  If  I  want  the  Geldenrief,  I  only  want 
my  own.  We've  spent  two  hundred  thousand  pounds 
upon  it,  and  Piet  doesn't  make  three  hundred  a  year  out 
of  the  land.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  justice  to  let  it  lie 
waste  like  that.  I  tried  to  persuade  Joan,  but  I  couldn't 
make  her  see  it.  You  must  take  it  on  now;  you're  a 
better  talker  than  I  am.  We  must  make  her  a  rich 
woman,  whether  she  wants  it  or  not." 

"  And  get  a  bit  for  ourselves." 

"  I'd  like  the  old  syndicate  to  get  their  money  back,  and 
a  bit  over ;  I  don't  deny  that.  When  we  bring  the  Alt- 
haus  Bank  out  next  year,  I  should  like  to  have  the  Gelden- 
rief Deep  as  an  asset;  I  don't  deny  that  either.  But  I 
couldn't  ask  the  little  woman  to  promise  me  the  reversion 
of  the  farm  as  the  price  of  my  throwing  in  my  lot  with 
the  revolutionists.  I  couldn't  do  it.  I  am  in  with  them  now, 
all  the  way ;  she  can  take  it  how  she  likes.  I  don't  want 
you  to  do  anything  but  persuade  her  that,  when  she  gets 
possession  of  the  land,  it's  too  good  to  graze  sheep  on." 


96  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Never  fear;  I'll  persuade  her." 

"  And  don't  stay  too  long  in  Cape  Town.  For,  now 
that  I've  thrown  in  my  lot  with  these  fellows,  I'm  hot 
on  it.  I  never  put  my  hand  to  a  failure  yet;  and  when 
I  put  my  hand  to  getting  the  Transvaal  for  Great  Britain, 
Great  Britain  is  going  to  get  it.  Because  Joan — because 
Joan  de  Groot  is  Joan  de  Groot,  I  couldn't  take  the  mat- 
ter of  the  farm  any  further;  because  Stephen  Hayward 
thinks  himself  under  some  sort  of  obligation  to  me,  I 
couldn't  force  him  into  compromising  his  position  by 
showing  any  active  sympathy  with  us  over  here ;  but  we 
might  make  her  one  of  the  richest  women  in  South  Africa, 
and  we  might  make  him  one  of  the  most-talked-of  men 
in  England.  Do  you  see  my  point?  Will  you  tackle 
them?  I  must  stick  to  my  post  here;  but  you're  such 
a  clever  fellow,  I  think  you  can  do  anything  with  them. 
I  own  I  want  to  play  Providence  to  them  both,  with  or 
without  their  consent.  Do  you  think  you  can  take  it  on  ?" 

"  Think !  my  dear  fellow — think !  Give  me  a  task 
worth  doing;  tackling  a  woman  or  an  English  politician 
is  child's  play.  Tell  me,  does  any  one  else  know  about 
the  Geldenrief,  and  Mrs.  de  Groot's  marriage  settle- 
ment?" 

"  Not  a  soul." 

"  It  was  rather  a  risky  thing  leaving  her  up  there  with- 
out any  sort  of  promise,  if  you  gave  her  a  hint." 

The  whisky  was  beginning  to  have  its  effect  on  Karl. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  left  her  there  if  I  could  have  helped 
myself,"  Karl  said,  almost  to  himself. 

Louis  whistled.    This  was  a  new  development  for  Karl. 

"  Oh !  that  was  it,  was  it  ?    That's  her  school  ?" 

Karl  turned  on  him  roughly.  "  No,  that  wasn't  it. 
Little  Joan  de  Groot  is  as  virtuous  as  she  is  honest,  and 
that's  saying  a  great  deal."  He  thumped  his  big  fist  on 
the  table.  "  And  any  one  who  tempts  the  one  or  the 
other  has  got  to  reckon  with  Karl  Althaus,"  he  shouted. 

Louis  soothed  him  easily  enough,  and  went  on  talking. 
Presently  he  learned  enough  to  know  that  the  "  Gelden- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  97 

rief  Deep,"  for  so  he  began  to  think  of  Piet's  farm,  was 
protected  by  its  lease.  Its  owner  would  not  sell,  had 
vowed  he  would  never  sell  his  grandfather's  and  his 
father's  grave,  the  oasis  they  had  wrested  from  the  wil- 
derness. But  Van  Biene,  who  had  drawn  up  Joan's  mar- 
riage settlement,  had  drawn  up  also  the  lease  of  the  out- 
crop, and,  by  a  covenant  in  the  latter,  if  ever  the  farm 
was  sold,  the  Geldenrief  Company  was  to  have  the  first 
refusal. 

Louis's  journey  to  England,  Louis's  mission  to  Stephen 
Hayward,  seemed  to  him  of  little  importance  in  compari- 
son with  Piet  de  Groot's  homestead. 


CHAPTER  Six 


THAT  Joan  de  Groot  had  impressed  Karl  Althaus  was 
strange,  but  the  effect  Karl  had  had  upon  Joan,  less  ele- 
mental, was  perhaps  even  more  remarkable.  He  came 
into  her  life  at  a  critical  period.  The  publication  of 
"  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper"  marked  the  end  of  her  girl- 
hood, although  she  was  eight-and-twenty,  and  had  been 
a  married  woman  nearly  eleven  years.  The  transition 
time  between  that  ending  girlhood  and  commencing 
womanhood  was  Karl's  opportunity,  an  opportunity  of 
which  he  remained  ignorant  always. 

Out  of  the  dull,  poor  parsonage  in  Devonshire  Joan  and 
her  brother  had  emigrated,  he  to  take  up  the  post  of 
second  master  at  the  newly  erected  Cape  Town  College, 
she,  nominally  to  keep  house  for  him,  actually  because 
there  was  nowhere  else  for  her  to  go,  nothing  else  for  her 
to  do.  But  her  inveterate  childhood's  habit  of  thinking 
of  something  else  rather  than  of  what  she  was  doing  at 
the  moment;  a  habit  that  had  left  her  educated  only  in 
strata,  layers  of  ignorance  alternating  with  golden  veins 
of  knowledge,  rendered  her  as  incapable  a  housekeeper 
as  she  was  a  pupil.  Some  kindly-meaning,  bungling 
friend  of  her  brother's  arranged  the  marriage  with  Piet 
de  Groot,  and  supplemented  her  sixty  pounds  per  annum 
with  a  simple  trousseau.  Van  Biene  drew  up  the 
settlements,  whereby  the  farm  was  left  to  her  and  her 
children. 

The  girl  had  an  irregular,  indefinite  sort  of  imagina- 
tion that  made  her  see  pictures  where  there  were  only 
words.  She  was  quite  pleased  to  be  married,  and  more 
than  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  going  to  her  husband's 
farm  with  him;  she  saw  a  wonderful  pastoral  scene,  set 
98 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  99 

in  wild  veldt  stretches,  and  a  kindly,  patriarchal  Dutch- 
man, full  of  simple  talk  of  sheep  and  of  the  land.  She 
was  tired  of  the  life  with  her  brother.  She  thought  she 
could  dream  uninterruptedly,  with  only  this  bearded 
farmer  to  talk  to  her,  now  and  again,  of  his  herds  and 
his  crops.  Piet  de  Groot,  however,  was  as  utterly  unlike 
the  picture  she  had  formed  of  him  as  the  dry  and  arid 
ostrich-farm,  with  its  milk-plants,  stony  kopjes,  and  scant 
vegetation,  dying  in  the  red  sand,  under  the  hot  sun, 
was  unlike  the  green  undulating  English  land  she  had 
seen  in  her  mind's  eye ;  and  she  was  as  incapable  of  ful- 
filling her  duties  towards  either  of  them  as  she  had  been 
of  conceiving  them.  It  was  two  years,  however,  before 
the  untenable  situation  came  to  a  natural  end,  separating 
husband  and  wife,  but  leaving  to  each  of  them  a  certain 
respect,  a  certain  surprised  understanding  of  the  other. 
After  that  time  Piet  made  himself  comfortable  with  the 
aid  of  a  woman  of  his  own  people,  and  henceforth  Joan 
had  nothing  to  complain  of  except  neglect,  and  of  that 
she  never  complained,  for  solitude,  freedom  to  dream 
amid  infinite  space,  was  all  her  slow  mental  growth  de- 
manded. 

She  dreamed  over  the  books  and  newspapers  her 
brother  sent  her,  developed  so  slowly  that  it  was  five 
more  years  before  she  realised  how  clear  her  dreams  had 
grown,  how  much  more  vivid  they  were  than  any  of  the 
gross  realities  surrounding  her.  She  had  taken  in  her 
impressions,  however,  and  when,  through  her  magnetic 
"pen,  she  spread  them  before  a  wondering  world,  their 
success  was  instantaneous,  as  remarkable  as  "  Evelina" 
had  been,  as  "  Jane  Eyre"  or  "  Scenes  from  Clerical 
Life." 

Her  book  succeeded  by  dint  of  its  simplicity,  and  a 
realism  that  had  in  it  nothing  of  coarseness,  nothing  of 
exaggeration.  The  instinctive  art  by  which  the  scenes 
were  selected,  each  calculated  to  show  special  character- 
istics of  the  country  or  of  the  people,  was  remarkable; 
the  effect  produced  was  startling.  Reading  this  book,  one 


100  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

heard  the  swish  of  the  sjambok,  and  saw  the  red  earth 
under  the  karoo  bushes  dyed  redder  with  the  blood  of  the 
black  man.  To  those  intense  blue  skies,  arched  over  the 
Southern  Continent,  ascended  the  cries  of  the  enslaved; 
the  heavens  were  rent  with  them,  there  were  sudden 
storms,  and  the  earth  was  convulsed.  The  rough  egotism 
of  the  Boers  was  vivid  in  the  book,  their  brutalities,  their 
cunning  also;  one  saw  their  strength,  but  one  turned 
sick  at  their  hypocrisy.  One  realised  through  Joan  de 
Groot's  pages  the  superficial  religion  that  taught  the  Boers 
neither  virtue  nor  charity;  their  Biblical  learning  that 
yet  left  them  a  prey  to  every  superstition,  while  the  les- 
sons of  cleanliness  in  the  Old  Testament  were  as  little 
regarded  as  the  lessons  of  mercy  in  the  Now.  It  was  a 
nation  that  passed  before  the  reader's  eye,  a  winding 
pageantry  of  ignorance,  strong  and  menacing,  a  danger 
to  civilisation. 

On  the  strength  of  the  book's  success,  and  urged  now 
by  her  brother,  who  had  discontinued  teaching,  and  was 
secure  in  his  position  both  at  the  bar  and  as  a  Progressive 
member  of  the  Cape  Parliament,  Joan  left  her  husband 
and  the  farm,  and  went  to  live  with  her  brother  in  Cape 
Town.  Their  house  was  within  a  stone's  throw  of  Gov- 
ernment Gardens,  it  was  a  villa,  green  verandahed  and 
low,  nestling  at  the  foot  of  Table  Mountain.  From  the 
window  of  her  bedroom  she  could  watch  the  grey  mists 
softly  settle  on  the  mountain,  the  distances  grow  dense 
and  impenetrable.  In  the  shadows  she  could  dream  her 
dreams.  But  in  the  front  of  the  house,  on  the  stoep,  life 
moved  vigorously,  and  everything  that  was  strenuous  and 
active  in  Cape  Town  grew  and  developed  under  the  stimu- 
lus of  her  interest,  in  the  orbit  of  her  ready  sympathy. 
It  was  not  a  narrow  political  ism,  a  Tweedledum  and 
Tweedledee  of  local  affairs,  that  held  either  brother  or 
sister.  Imperialism  versus  Africanderism  had  been  his 
clarion  call  to  office.  And  Joan  too,  self-exiled  as  she 
was,  with  a  Dutch  name,  was  a  passionate  patriot,  and  her 
book  itself  had  been  less  to  her  than  all  that  lay  beneath 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  101 

the  stirring  symbolism  of  the  flag  that  hung  unfurled 
above  her. 

Party  feeling  ran  high  in  Cape  Town  fully  a  year  be- 
fore the  policy  was  defined  which  made  party  feeling 
subordinate  to  imperial  feeling,  and  Joan  de  Groot  was 
not  the  only  woman  who  was  looking  and  listening  and 
spending  her  quota  of  intelligence  in  trying  to  grasp  or 
vary  the  situation.  "  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper,"  and 
her  brother's  appreciation,  gave  her  a  definite  position. 
In  the  forcing-house  of  that  appreciation  she  grew  slowly 
and  sweetly  to  fill  the  place  she  had  made  for  herself. 
Their  little  home  was  the  centre  of  the  Progressives,  the 
stronghold  of  those  who  opposed  the  formation  of  the 
Bond,  and  exposed  continually,  in  Parliament  and  out,  the 
tendency  and  the  teaching  of  its  Leaders.  But  Joan's 
slight  form,  her  small  eager  face,  with  its  crown  of  wavy 
brown  hair,  her  light  blue  eyes  and  moving  lips,  curved 
and  soft  and  red,  won  more  than  intellectual  tribute.  The 
house  was  ever  full  of  men,  men  used  to  the  light  ways 
of  Cape  Town  women  and  girls,  men  of  the  Louis  Alt- 
haus  type,  officers  from  Simon's  Town  and  Wynberg,  as 
well  as  from  the  barracks.  Yet  she  was  safe  from  all 
these,  for,  if  she  was  not  quite  without  coquetry,  she 
learnt  easily  to  fence  and  parry,  she  enjoyed  her  tributes, 
and,  if  she  had  a  child's  heart,  she  had  a  man's  brain. 
The  womanhood  in  her  had  not  yet  reared  its  dangerous 
head  above  the  level  of  the  white  sheets  on  which  she 
wrote  her  tales  of  love  or  war. 

The  story  of  "  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper"  had  caught 
the  public  ear ;  its  politics  and  its  local  colour  had  opened 
the  magazines  to  her,  and  made  her  realise  the  quickening 
delight  of  journalism,  when  the  immediate  note  of  her 
sounding  pen  echoed  back  into  her  ears,  swelled  by  ac- 
claiming, contradicting,  chorusing  voices.  Delight,  joy- 
ousness  came  to  her  with  the  realisation  of  her  capacity 
for  expression,  the  pleasure  of  putting  her  thoughts  into 
rhythmic  phrase  was  sufficient  to  fill  her  days,  the  tempta- 
tion to  sacrifice  the  thought  to  the  rhythm  was  the  great- 


102  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

est  temptation  she  had  ever  met;  that  she  yielded  to  it 
taught  her  nothing.  There  was  no  room  or  need  in  those 
full  days  for  amorous  adventure,  until  the  coming  of  the 
Althauses  into  her  life  began  to  teach  her  that  even  jour- 
nalism and  rhythmic  phrase,  politics  and  imperialism, 
were  not  all-sufficing.  Already,  perhaps,  she  was  in- 
stinctively beginning  to  look  around  for  fresh  material, 
throwing  out  feelers,  weaving  spells,  when  she  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Karl  Althaus. 

She  knew  of  him,  of  course,  even  before  he  came  to 
the  house;  he  represented  an  important  interest;  and 
he  knew  of  her,  for,  as  we  have  seen,  she  was  Piet  de 
Groot's  wife,  and  the  remainder  of  Piet  de  Groot's  farm 
was  vested  in  her. 

Karl  Althaus  was  a  new  type  to  Joan,  a  new  experience, 
notwithstanding  her  two  years  in  Cape  Town.  For, 
though  all  kinds  of  men  visited  the  house,  and  conversed 
upon  the  stoep,  few  of  the  mining  magnates  at  this  period 
found  it  worth  their  while  to  conciliate  or  fraternise  with 
the  Cape  Town  parliamentarians.  Karl's  absolute  pas- 
sion for  money-making,  his  completely  unstudied,  almost 
unconscious,  unscrupulottsness,  and  the  massiveness  of 
his  grey  head,  interested  her.  Somehow  or  other  he  en- 
larged her  horizon.  That  he  fell  in  love  with  her  at  first 
sight,  that  she  influenced  him  and  made  him  forget  all 
for  which  he  had  originally  sought  her,  she  failed  to  real- 
ise immediately.  He  was  forty-five  years  of  age,  and  in 
the  most  personal  sense  no  woman  had  ever  touched  him. 
His  life  had  been  too  full  of  money  to  have  room  for 
sentiment ;  and  love  without  sentiment  had  made  but  lit- 
tle variation  of  his  daily  pursuits. 

In  Joan's  presence  he  had  forgotten  Piet's  farm,  which 
would  one  day  be  hers,  also  the  possible  value  of  her  pen 
to  many  causes  he  had  at  heart,  and  all  the  machinery  for 
the  moving  of  which  he  had  meant  to  use  her.  And  he 
interested  her,  there  was  no  doubt  about  that.  His  large 
personality,  his  overwhelming  volubility,  his  visible 
strength  and  brain  power,  the  way  he  persistently  sought 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  103 

her,  made  his  month  in  Cape  Town  memorable  to 
her 

He  told  her  much,  for  he  was  ever  a  man  who  loved 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  He  taught  her,  without  in- 
tention, things  he  would  perhaps  have  left  untaught,  had 
he  known  the  use  to  which  she  meant  to  put  them ;  how 
the  Government  concessions  were  being  obtained,  for 
instance.  She  always  listened  to  him,  drew  him  out,  en- 
couraged him  to  come  again  and  again.  She  liked  listen- 
ing to  him,  though  nothing  he  wanted  seemed  to  her  quite 
worth  the  having.  Money  and  power  were  both  unknown 
wants  to  her,  but  the  strength  with  which  he  wanted  them 
appealed  to  the  strength  in  her.  So  she  drew  him  out, 
made  him  talk,  which  was  in  truth  not  difficult,  and  learnt 
to  respect  everything  that  was  respectable  in  him,  and  to 
enjoy  his  society  more  than  that  of  other  people. 

She  was  so  young  in  her  ways,  so  ingenuous  in  her  in- 
nocence and  ignorance  of  the  world,  it  was  difficult  to 
reconcile  her  personality  with  the  reputation  her  almost 
miraculous  book  had  given  her.  It  was  inspiration, 
genius,  a  unique,  almost  unconscious  efflorescence.  This 
Karl  Althaus  could  not  see  or  know.  He  saw  only  a 
dainty  little  woman,  with  puzzled  eyebrows  and  animated, 
questioning  face,  lithe  movements,  quick  and  graceful, 
instinct  with  vitality  and  the  joy  of  life.  It  was  strange 
to  find  her  so  apt  in  argument.  Karl's  intelligence  went 
under  before  hers ;  she  saw  not  only  quicker,  but  further. 
With  Karl's  instinct  for  self-preservation  she  had  little 
sympathy;  the  devil  would  have  gone  unlighted  to  bed 
had  he  depended  on  Joan  de  Groot  for  candle.  The 
jargon  of  "  constitutional  means,"  the  shadow  grasped 
by  the  mining  interest  whilst  the  substance  was  escaping 
them,  she  rejected  disdainfully.  Unlike  the  majority  of 
her  sex  she  lacked  diplomacy,  her  simplicity  of  thought 
suggested  that  if,  as  Karl  told  her,  and,  indeed,  as 
she  well  knew,  the  policy  of  the  Transvaal  was  to  make 
residence  there  impossible  for  self-respecting  Englishmen, 
then  the  outraged  and  insulted  Uitlanders  should  fight, 


104i  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

fight  not  only  for  their  own  rights,  but  for  the  honour 
of  their  country. 

She  it  was  who  had  urged  Karl  Althaus  along  the  path 
that  led  from  sufferance  to  revolt.  The  talk  of  the  men 
who  gathered  on  the  stoep  of  that  little  house  was  sub- 
dued in  the  presence  of  their  host,  the  Advocate-General, 
was  subdued  too  when  the  Prime  Minister,  big  and  silent 
and  attentive,  was  with  them,  but  it  flamed  now  and  again 
in  short  gusts  of  indignation  when  Paul  Kruger's  name 
was  thrust  as  a  lighted  faggot  amongst  them  to  fire  them 
with  the  knowledge  of  his  contemptuous  tyrannies  and 
injustices.  And,  with  little  Joan  to  fan  the  flame,  Karl 
too  had  become  ignited. 

During  those  days  in  Cape  Town,  Karl  Althaus  drank 
more  whisky,  and  played  poker  for  higher  stakes,  than  he 
had  ever  done  before.  Joan  excited  him  in  some  way  that 
his  forty  odd  years  of  experience  failed  immediately  to 
explain  to  him.  He  lived  that  month  in  a  whirl ;  it  was 
the  month  before  he  had  gone  home.  It  was  not  until 
later  he  had  fully  realised  that  which  he  told  Louis  in 
Johannesburg.  In  England  too  he  had  become  cooler 
over  it;  he  had  had  the  leisure  to  realise  all  Joan  had 
taught  him.  At  the  time  he  knew  nothing,  except  that 
there  was  a  little  woman  whom  he  had  meant  to  use,  and 
that  she  laughed  at  him  and  left  him  dry-mouthed,  with 
a  deep  thirst  on  him  which  even  whisky  did  not  quench. 
Joan  knew  before  Karl  did  what  it  was  that  ailed  him, 
and  that  what  he  was  learning  was  not  only  what  he  owed 
his  country;  but,  because  she  was  a  novelist  first,  and 
only  realised  her  womanhood  afterwards,  this  merely 
touched  her  lightly. 

He  talked  to  her  of  his  mother,  and  the  paralysed 
woman  lived  for  her  in  the  clear  illumination  of  her  im- 
agination. He  told  her  of  Louis,  not  only  of  his  birth 
and  parentage,  but  of  his  beauty  and  charm,  for  men 
who  are  in  love  like  talking  about  those  they  have  loved 
only  less,  and  Karl  had  loved  no  one  but  Louis.  He  told 
her  of  mines  and  combinations  of  financiers,  and  advised 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  105 

her  of  forthcoming  swindles,  and  she  laughed  at  him  that 
such  things  should  move  him.  He  talked  to  her  of  his 
people,  when  she  talked  to  him  of  patriotism,  and  then 
she  had  a  glimpse  into  his  great  heart.  There  were  many 
such  conversations. 

Joan  was  looking  for  a  subject  for  a  new  story.  Karl, 
always  egotistical,  was  autobiographical  to  Joan.  She 
said  to  him  one  day : 

"  Yours  must  have  been  a  varied  life,  Mr.  Althaus ; 
you  must  have  had  some  strange  experiences?" 

"  Experiences !  I  believe  you.  I've  seen  things  that 
would  make  your  hair  stand  on  end,  eh!  and  stop  there 
too ;  swindles !  my  word !" 

"  Oh !  I  don't  mean  financial  things,  I  mean  personal 
things — things  that  have  influenced  you,  made  you.  I 
want  to  get  the  recipe,  the  ingredients  of  millionaire- 
making.  I  think  I  must  evolve  a  millionaire  for  my  next 
book,  and  I  want  to  know  how  he  feels  from  the  very 
start.  Tell  me,  are  you  alone  in  the  world?  Have  you 
no  father,  mother,  sister,  brother?" 

"  Brother !  oh,  yes !" — Karl's  face  lit  up — "  Don't  you 
know  my  Louis?" 

"  I  haven't  been  long  back,  you  know.  No ;  I  did  not 
even  know  you  had  a  Louis.  Is  he  your  brother?" 

"  Well,  no  blood  relation,  but  all  I  have  belonging  to 
me,  all  the  same.  Louis's  mother  was  a  Christian." 

"  And  you,  is  it  true  that  you  are  a  Jew  ?  That  inter- 
ests me ;  that  really  accounts  for  you." 

"  Yes ;  I  belong  to  the  ancient  people,"  he  said  ab- 
ruptly. "  I  am  a  Jew  by  birth,  by  instinct,  by  sympathy. 
Judaism  is  to  me  what  England  is  to  you,  part  of  myself, 
the  best  part.  Jews  helped  me  when  I  was  a  child,  and, 
when  I  was  a  grown  lad,  a  starving  one,  Jews  helped  me 
again,  and  that  only  because  I  was  one  of  themselves. 
They  kept  my  mother,  my  poor  old  paralysed  mother, 
kept  her  with  me  and  for  me ;  that  makes  me  hand  and 
heart  with  them." 

"  So  you  are  a  Jew !    I  heard  it,  but  was  not  sure.    I 


106  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

did  not  feel  sure  it  was  true.  It  is  a  wonderful  religion !'' 
The  word  set  her  mind  roving  eastward. 

"  No,  no ;  there  you  are  wrong  again !  It  is  not  a  re- 
ligion at  all;  it  is  a  thing  of  forms  and  foods,  a  race 
habit.  There's  no  religion  in  it.  When  you've  said 
they  would  not  accept  the  Christ,  you've  summed  up  their 
faith." 

Karl  had  never  heard  of  Jewish  ideals,  the  ideals  which 
have  preserved  Judaism  intact  through  the  ages.  He  was 
only  now  awakening  to  ideals  of  any  kind. 

Joan  took  his  meaning  quickly. 

"  Not  a  religion,  only  a  negation,  a  great  negation  ?" 

"  Yes.  I've  stood  by  more  than  one  deathbed  where 
there's  been  a  priest,  Catholic  or  Protestant,  Quaker  or 
Calvinist,  and  they  all  had  religion.  We  have  only  sym- 
bols. I  remember" — Karl  began  to  walk  up  and  down, 
to  become  reminiscent  consciously,  "  I  remember  my  own 
mother's  deathbed,  but  there  was  no  religion  there,  nor 
faith,  nothing  to  hold  on  to,  nothing  about  the  hereafter, 
no  word  I  understood  at  all.  And  I  was  such  a  wretched 
little  fellow,  so  heart-broken  over  it.  They  mumbled  over 
her  in  Hebrew,  and  I  didn't  understand  one  word.  I  saw 
an  Italian  organ-grinder  die  once,  when  I  was  a  boy, 
down  in  a  mews  in  Houndsditch.  Just  when  he  drew  his 
last  breath  and  half-opened  his  dying  eyes,  a  priest  came 
in  hurriedly,  flung  himself  on  his  knee  by  the  bed — a  filthy 
truckle-bed — the  whole  place  was  filthy — and  held  up  a 
crucifix.  You  should  have  seen  the  look  in  the  glazing 
eyes  of  that  dying  man,  I've  never  forgotten  it,  the  hope, 
the  life  that  came  into  them.  It's  the  dream  of  my  life 
to  see  such  a  look  in  the  eyes  of  a  dying  Jew.  Ah !  you've 
got  a  religion,  we've  only  got  a  tradition,  an  obstinacy,  and 
even  that  our  priests  tell  us  of  in  Hebrew." 

"Why  in  Hebrew?" 

"That's  it!  Why  in  Hebrew?  They  say  all  their 
prayers  in  a  dead  tongue,  dead  as  the  religion  they  don't 
preach." 

"  It  has  kept  you  a  race  apart.     I  remember  now,  I 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  107 

have  read  about  it,  '  separate  in  your  synagogue.'  You 
ought  .not  to  complain  of  the  Hebrew,  the  idea  is  so 
picturesque." 

"  That's  it  again,  a  picturesque  idea.  Poetry  if  you 
like,  but  not  religion;  it  don't  help  you  when  you're 
going  out.  An  empty  thing  of  ceremonies,  without  the 
great  Sacrifice,  or  the  lesson  of  Love,  without  the  Cross, 
and  without  the  Crown,  and  no  Christ  to  intervene  for 
sinners.  Ah !  I've  heard  it  all  since.  Such  a  wonderful 
story ;  the  '  story  that  has  moved  the  word,'  Stead  called 
it.  I  wish  I  could  believe  it.  '  God  gave  His  only  be- 
gotten Son  to  save  sinners.'  There's  an  idea  for  you ! 
In  the  Jewish  quarter  in  Whitechapel,  it  isn't  told,  it  isn't 
known.  There's  forty  thousand  pounds  spent  a  year  in 
converting  heathens,  and  until  I  was  nineteen  I  never 
hard  anything  about  Christ  excepting  that  His  mother 
must  have  been — but  there,  I  won't  insult  you  by  repeat- 
ing it.  My  poor  mother  loved  me,  I  was  her  only  son, 
and  I  should  have  known  what  the  love  meant,  and  the 
sacrifice.  I  am  a  Jew,  but  there  are  times  when  I'm  just 
on  fire  to  tell  that  story  properly  to  all  the  youngsters 
who've  got  nothing  to  hold  on  to  but  their  Passover  cakes. 
Mind  you,  I'm  not  pretending  that  I  believe  it ;  I  heard 
it  too  late  for  that.  Faith  comes  in  childhood,  or  not 
at  all ;  and  when  I  was  a  child  I  believed  in  fried  fish 
and  fasting  once  a  year.  It  was  all  I'd  been  taught.  I 
don't  believe  in  Christ,  but  I'd  give  half  a  million  if  I 
did." 

Karl,  who  was  a  man  of  contradictions,  now  selling 
winkles,  now  buying  Fragonards,  professed,  and  boasted 
of,  his  Judaism,  but,  in  all  his  moments  of  restlessness 
and  rare  depression,  he  longed  for  Christianity  and  its 
early  lessons,  for  himself  and  for  his  people.  When  Joan 
was  trying  to  teach  him  patriotism,  and  succeeding,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  many  other  claims  upon  him, 
and  not  the  least  of  these  was  the  obligation  of  his  lack 
of  faith. 

"  I  wish  to  God  we  were  popular,  sought  after,  thought 


108  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

much  of,  I  could  do  it  then,  go  over  to  the  other  side  I 
mean.    You  understand  me?" 

"  Oh  yes,  we  always  understand  each  other.    You  lack 
the  courage  of  your  want  of  opinion,"  she  said  smilingly. 
"You're  sharp — I  suppose  you  wouldn't  help  me?" 
"  To  retain  South  Africa  for  the  Empire  ?" 
"  Are  you  a  religious  woman  ?" 
She  coloured  at  that :   "  No — yes — I  don't  know." 
"  That  book  of  yours,  now — that's  full  of  it." 
"  You  must  allow  for  a  little  literary  insincerity." 
"  Well,  you  want  to  retain  South  Africa  for  England. 
Do  you  care  about  winning  a  nation,  a  big  nation,  mind 
you,  over  to  her  Church?" 

"  You  want  to  convert  the  Jews !"  she  asked  him. 
"  No!  I  want  to  keep  them  just  as  they  are.  Give  me 
a  Jew  rather  than  a  Christian  any  day  in  the  week ;  he's 
got  more  guts  in  him,  I  tell  you  that.  I'd  like  to  keep 
every  custom  and  habit  and  ceremony  he's  got,  but  I'd 
like  him  to  know  about  Christ;  I'd  like  to  give  him  a 
chance." 

"  Why,  you  are  not  a  Jew  at  all.  You  have  the  mis- 
sionary spirit."  Joan  was  interested,  almost  excited,  by 
what  she  read  into  him,  his  limitation  and  the  causes  of 
them. 

"  And  not  the  only  one.  Why,  little  woman,  believe 
me," — Karl  spoke  impressively,  and  accentuated  his 
words  with  restless  hands :  "  There  are  hundreds  of  Jews, 
the  salt  of  the  Jewish  race,  the  cultured  ones,  who  heard 
it  earlier  than  I  did,  and  who  know  it  is  all  true.  They 
feel  it,  and  they  accept  it,  but  they  can't  admit  it,  can't 
profess  Christianity  openly,  because  there  is  a  prejudice 
against  Jews,  a  Judenhetz.  As  long  as  that  is  about  we 
must  fight  under  our  own  flag,  whatever  our  convictions. 
But,  if  ever  the  Jews  are  honoured  because  they  are  Jews, 
the  very  best  of  them  will  come  out  into  the  open,  take 
their  hats  off,  and  shout  out  in  their  synagogues :  '  I  be- 
lieve in  Christ ;  thank  the  great  God,  I  can  say  it  now ;  I 
believe  in  Christ !' ' 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  109 

"  You're  laughing  at  me  ...  it's  no  laughing  matter 
to  some  of  them.  Judaea  is  to  them  what  England  is  to 
you ;  and  they  can't  give  her  away  because  the  Boers  or 
their  neighbours  shout '  Jew'  or  '  Uitlander'  in  their  faces, 
and  shake  their  fists.  Say  now :  why  should  I  mix  myself 
in  your  quarrel,  if  you've  nothing  to  say  in  mine?  But 
there,  there,  little  woman,  you  needn't  worry;  I've  only 
given  you  what  is  in  a  corner  of  my  mind ;  I  keep  it  in 
the  background  generally,  but  I  like  you  to  know  all 
about  me.  I'll  take  part  in  what's  coming  on  here,  I'll 
do  what  you  want  me.  We're  Englishmen  as  well  as 
Jews,  and  you  needn't  be  afraid." 

That,  briefly,  was  the  spark  that  lit  the  flame  in  the 
woman,  who  at  this  time,  at  least,  was  little  more  than 
pen  and  ink.  She  wanted  Karl  on  paper,  and  saw  that 
it  was  not  as  a  man  she  must  hold  him  up  for  men  to 
see,  but  as  a  nation.  The  atmosphere  and  background 
of  her  last  book  was  Boer,  the  atmosphere  and  back- 
ground of  her  next  must  be  Jew.  Everything  in  Joan's 
life  went  by  the  board  during  the  last  part  of  Karl's  stay 
in  Cape  Town ;  she  had  to  see  him,  learn  him  by  heart, 
read  into  him  his  people's  history.  "  The  making  of  a 
millionaire"  should  be  the  title,  for  sub-title  she  would 
call  it  "  The  Book  of  the  Jew."  She  examined  and  cross- 
examined  him  endlessly.  And  he  exposed  himself  as  un- 
consciously to  her  as  a  chloroformed  patient  to  the  sur- 
geon ;  for  her  little  hands  and  feet,  her  brown  hair  and 
smiling  eyes,  bewitched  him,  and  he  unclothed  his  very 
soul  at  the  bidding  of  those  mobile  lips  and  varying 
dimples. 

Concretely,  the  sum  of  his  biography  is  soon  shown. 
But  concrete  facts  were  not  to  Joan's  taste,  neither  did  the 
story  reach  her  brain  that  way. 

That  Karl  Althaus  was  the  son  of  a  Wardour  Street 
bric-a-brac  dealer  did  not  interest  her.  It  was  only  with 
the  death  of  the  bric-a-brac  dealer,  before  he  had  time 
to  make  provision  for  wife  and  child,  that  Joan's  sym- 
pathies began  to  stir  and  visualise  for  her  the  sharp  little 


110  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Jewish  boy  and  his  widowed  mother.  She  saw  vividly 
that  great-hearted  mother  of  Karl's,  after  the  week  of 
mourning  was  over,  her  eyes  still  red  with  weeping,  her 
heart  still  liquid  with  tears,  setting  herself  to  earn  a  living 
for  herself  and  her  child.  Karl  was  then  only  ten,  a  big 
boy,  clever  beyond  his  years.  Mrs.  Althaus  went  a  little 
further  east,  to  live  near  her  relatives  in  the  Whitechapel 
Road.  There,  since  she  knew  nothing  of  the  fine  arts, 
and  her  parents  had  kept  a  fried-fish  shop,  she  opened 
a  Kosher  provision  store.  Karl  went  to  the  Jews'  Free 
School  in  the  mornings,  but  in  the  afternoon  he  would 
help  to  cut  the  smoked  salmon  into  thin  slices,  to  fry  the 
plaice  that  they  sold  all  through  the  evening  at  twopence 
a  piece,  to  bottle  the  olives  that  came  over  to  them  in 
casks,  to  take  the  large  yellow  cucumbers  out  of  the  big 
pickling  tubs.  He  was  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long,  and 
so,  in  reality,  was  that  fat  and  perspiring  widow.  For 
the  business  flourished,  and  Karl,  her  Karl,  was  the 
quickest,  the  most  industrious,  the  best,  the  dearest  of 
boys,  the  envy  of  all  the  mothers  in  the  neighbourhood. 
She  told  him  so  often;  she  was  expansive,  voluble,  and 
she  had  only  her  Karl  to  whom  she  could  talk  freely. 

Joan  understood  it  all,  the  happiness  of  the  then,  and 
the  pathos  of  what  followed. 

One  day,  it  appeared,  there  came  begging  into  that 
prosperous  provision  shop,  a  Polish  Jew,  a  refugee,  a 
ragged  figure  with  handsome  eyes  and  an  unpro- 
nounceable name,  a  man  who  whined  out  his  sorrows  in 
Yiddish,  who  cried  and  said  he  was  hungry.  Because  she 
was  a  Jewess  and  he  a  Jew,  after  the  benevolent  fashion 
of  her  race  she  fed  him,  she  gave  him  of  her  husband's 
clothes,  she  put  money  in  his  pocket,  and  took  him  by  the 
hand.  He  came  back  again,  and  yet  again,  sometimes  he 
begged,  sometimes  he  only  admired  her  fine  figure  (of 
nearly  fourteen  stone),  her  handsome  son,  perhaps  her 
thriving  business  and  untiring  industry.  He  came  and 
came,  and,  at  last,  notwithstanding  the  advice  of  her 
friends  and  relations,  he  came  and  he  stayed.  She  mar- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  111 

ried  him,  and  from  that  moment  her  fortune,  and  the  for- 
tune of  the  little  provision  shop,  failed.  Ludwig's  sur- 
name was  unpronounceable;  in  the  shop  they  called  him 
by  the  name  that  was  over  the  lintel,  soon  it  seemed  to 
become  his;  there  was  nothing  he  would  not  take,  not 
even  a  name.  He  ate,  he  begged,  and  wheedled  and 
whined,  but  he  did  not  work.  She  worked  for  them  both, 
for  all  three  of  them,  worked  early  and  late.  Karl 
watched  her;  he  did  all  he  could,  but  he  was  at  school 
half  the  day,  and  his  stepfather  wheedled  all  the  money 
out  of  the  poor  woman's  pocket,  presently  out  of  the 
bank,  wheedled  and  whined,  ate  and  drank  and  smoked, 
bought  luxuries,  bright  waistcoats  and  neckties  that  grew 
greasy.  He  had  a  perpetual  cough,  maddening  to  listen 
to,  he  made  a  market  of  it,  and  the  good  woman  with  the 
big  heart  nursed  it,  tempted  his  appetite  with  delicacies, 
sat  up  with  him  in  the  night,  worked  for  him  in  the  day. 
Yet  she  had  time  for  her  boy,  kept  his  clothes  neat,  let 
him  see  he  was  still  the  idol  of  her  heart.  But  Ludwig 
absorbed  all  the  savings ;  sometimes,  too,  it  grew  difficult 
even  to  renew  the  stock.  He  would  have  begged,  for  he 
liked  begging,  she  worked  instead,  overtasked  her 
strength.  She  knew  she  had  made  a  mistake,  and  it 
preyed  on  her  mind.  When  Ludwig's  cough  could  have 
let  her  sleep,  the  knowledge  of  it  kept  her  awake.  The 
poor  fat  Jewess,  with  her  black  fringe,  and  coarse  fea- 
tures, for  so  Joan  pictured  her,  and  pictured  her  correctly, 
lay  awake  through  many  nights  thinking  how  she  could 
contrive  to  satisfy  that  insatiable  schnorrer  she  had  mar- 
ried, while  her  Karl  should  not  go  short.  Black  fringe, 
perspiring  face,  coarse  hands — yet  Karl  Althaus  loved 
his  mother  as  dearly,  as  desperately,  and  as  jealously,  as 
Stephen  Hayward  had  loved  that  delicate,  aristocratic  lady 
whose  heart  his  father  had  broken.  Karl  watched  Lud- 
wig, the  Polish  beggar,  out  of  his  keen  Jewish  eyes,  and 
saw  him  spoil  his  mother's  rest,  eat  her  earnings,  wear 
the  fruits  of  her  toil.  And  the  mother  knew  he  was 
watching,  and  they  would  speak  together  of  everything 


112  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

else,  theirs  was  a  communicative,  voluble  race  —  but  of 
Ludwig  Karl  never  spoke  to  his  mother. 

The  rest  of  this  story  Karl  spoke  of  more  lightly  to 
Joan,  and  some  of  it  Joan  guessed,  and  some  of  it,  alas ! 
she  never  guessed,  and  was  never  told. 

For  the  great  misfortune,  the  great  tragedy,  came,  it 
was  inevitable  it  should  come,  but  it  came  so  soon.  Karl 
was  barely  twelve,  and  Ludwig  had  eaten  his  mother's 
bread,  and  begged  her  savings,  and  dressed  himself  out 
of  her  toil,  and  coughed  her  out  of  her  rest,  for  two  whole 
years,  when  one  day  she  fell,  fell  down  in  the  shop  in  the 
very  act  of  serving  a  customer,  struck  down  by  an  unseen 
hand.  Henceforth  she  was  debarred  for  ever  from  work, 
from  giving  the  help  she  loved  to  give.  She  became  a 
dead  body  living,  a  burden  where  she  had  been  a  blessing, 
locked  in  hideous  death-in-life,  powerless,  paralysed, 
dumb.  A  few  jerky,  incomprehensible  words,  like  the  tick 
of  an  old  clock  that  had  run  down,  and  two  live  eyes,  were 
all  that  were  left  of  her. 

She  lay  and  watched  ruin  creep  round  and  about  the 
home  she  had  made.  Who  shall  ever  write  the  anguish 
of  the  paralysed  ?  This  strong,  good  woman,  struck  down 
in  her  prime,  iron-bound  ever  after  and  almost  speechless, 
liying  in  that  front  room  over  the  shop,  heavy  with 
odours,  dingy  and  forlorn,  watched  for  two  long  years, 
ere  death  tardily  released  her,  everything  she  valued  lost, 
and  everything  she  loved  neglected.  Ludwig,  her  hus- 
band, cried  over  his  bad  luck,  begged  with  slobbering 
tears,  and  whined  and  stood  about,  doing  nothing,  not 
/selling,  not  buying,  simply  doing  nothing.  Karl's  anguish 
forced  him  into  premature  manhood.  He  was  only  twelve 
years  of  age,  but  he  tended  that  mute  figure  of  a  mother, 
bore  with  Ludwig,  who  tore  and  lacerated  his  feelings, 
and  poured  vitriol  into  the  open  wounds  he  made. 

Ludwig  talked  of  the  strong  brave  mother  as  a  "  bur- 
den" ;  the  boy,  proud  in  his  swelling  heart,  heard  their 
poverty  spoken  of,  their  straits  exposed ;  all  he  did  was 
nothing,  they  were  beggars,  for  Ludwig  said  it  hourly. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  113 

And  Ludwig  went  from  bad  to  worse.  That  martyred, 
mute,  unwieldy  figure,  neglected  save  for  the  boy  with 
the  large  tumultuous  heart,  who  took  his  strange  place 
so  uncomplainingly,  saw,  from  her  heavy  flesh  prison, 
idleness  turn  to  viciousness,  viciousness  to  crime.  For, 
to  her  mind,  that  chaste  and  virtuous  mind  that  is  the 
heritage  of  Jewish  women,  it  was  a  crime  when  Ludwig 
brought  another  woman  into  the  house  that  she  had  kept 
holy  with  cleanliness  and  honest  labour.  Ludwig  brought 
another  woman  into  the  shop,  and  into  the  parlour  be- 
hind the  shop,  and  finally  into  the  bedroom  over  the  shop. 
For  when  vice  and  poverty  join  hands  they  dance  lewdly 
over  decency.  The  paralysed  Jewess  had  kept  it  all  so 
clean,  and  Karl  was  there.  She  could  make  no  movement 
to  oppose,  could  bring  no  words  of  indignant  protest  over 
the  heavy  tongue  and  paralysed  throat.  No  word,  when 
these  two  polluted  her  home,  no  word,  when  they  cor- 
rupted her  poor  overtasked  boy,  and  taught  him  to  steal, 
whom  she  had  proudly  taught  to  work,  the  boy  who 
kissed  her  still,  as  he  had  always  done,  night  and  morn- 
ing, stroked  the  heavy  motionless  head,  and  washed  her 
face  tenderly,  the  broad  face  that  lay  agonised  with 
staring  eyes.  Perhaps  he  read,  poor  boy,  who  learnt  to 
read  so  quickly,  the  anguish  in  those  fixed  eyes.  With 
the  precocious  knowledge  of  the  slums  the  position  was 
clear  before  him. 

Nevertheless,  he  worked  early  and  he  worked  late,  he 
put  up  with  the  treatment  of  a  dog  and  the  food  of  a  dog, 
.although  a  place  was  offered  him  where  he  would  have 
had  civil  words  and  the  money  he  earned.  He  went  hun- 
gry, rather,  for  he  was  not  going  to  leave  his  mother. 
He  knew  how  she  had  worked  for  him  since  his  father's 
death.  Some  children  would  not  have  known,  but  Karl 
knew. 

The  foreign  woman  that  Ludwig  had  brought  in  (I 
follow  the  language  of  the  Jewish  quarter,  though,  in 
truth,  she  was  English  enough,  a  gutter  girl  of  loose  life 
and  free  tongue)  learnt  to  know  that  she  could  depend 

8 


114-  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

upon  Karl  when  she  could  not  depend  upon  Ludwig. 
She  learnt  to  value  him,  and  not  to  nag  him,  to  over- 
work him  still,  but  to  show  him  surreptitious  kindness, 
and,  even  once,  not  many  days  before  the  end,  to  put  her 
arms  round  him  and  kiss  him,  rather  wildly,  and  tell  him 
he  was  a  good  little  chap,  and  she  wished  to  God  his 
father  was  like  him. 

A  few  days  after  that  kiss  Karl  had  to  run  in  all  haste 
for  the  next-door  neighbour,  and  there  were  yells  and 
shrieks  in  the  house,  and  then  strange  quiet,  and  a  shrill 
wailing  cry.  Karl  was  in  the  room,  there  is  nothing  hid- 
den among  the  poor,  and  the  wretched  woman  called  to 
him.  He  stood  beside  the  bed ;  her  face  was  white  and 
drawn,  and  the  life  was  ebbing  away  from  her  with  every 
breath  she  drew. 

"  'Ere ;  you're  a  good  sort,  Karl.  Look  after  the  kid 
a  bit.  'Es  just  as  well  without  me,  p'raps,  but  Ludy'd  let 
him  starve.  Will  yer  take  care  of  'im,  Karl;  will  yer? 
I  ain't  bin  bad  to  you,  not  as  bad  as  I  have  to  most. 
You've  looked  after  your  mar,  will  you  look  after  my  pore 
little  kid?" 

"  I'll  look  after  him,"  answered  Karl  solemnly.  He 
had  never  hated  her,  she  hadn't  called  his  mother  a  bur- 
den; he  had  not  so  much  resented  her  position,  he  had 
only  resented  that  she  did  not  work.  "  Me  and  mother'll 
look  after  him." 

For  the  paralysed  woman  was  never  wholly  dead  or 
silent  to  Karl,  he  was  always  watching  and  waiting  for  the 
day  when  she  should  speak  again  and  be  well.  He  often 
talked  to  her,  said  words  that  penetrated  perhaps,  though 
no  answer  came,  only  broken  sounds. 

"  I'll  look  after  him,"  said  Karl.  And  we  shall  see  how 
Karl  the  man  kept  the  word  that  Karl  the  boy  gave  by 
that  sordid  death-bed. 

Karl  took  the  baby  from  her  when  she  was  dead,  held 
it  in  his  arms  a  little,  looked  at  it  and  wondered  at  it, 
stroked  its  tiny  hands,  put  his  cheeks  against  the  soft 
downy  head,  let  it  creep  into  his  heart,  where  it  stayed 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  115 

for  ever.  Afterwards  he  laid  it  by  his  mother's  side,  and 
tended  them  both.  It  seems  incredible,  but  neighbours 
helped,  good,  kind,  greasy,  gossiping  Jewish  girls  and 
women,  chaffed  him,  and  taught  him,  and  helped  him, 
and  saw  them  through  the  next  few  months.  Not  one 
of  these  did  Karl  forget  in  his  later  prosperity. 

The  shop  was  let;  only  the  one  room  retained.  There 
Karl,  and  the  paralysed  woman,  and  the  baby  lived,  or 
starved  together.  The  Board  of  Guardians  helped  them 
at  last.  But  it  was  a  case  difficult  to  help;  for  Ludwig 
pleaded  illness,  and  would  do  nothing,  and  Karl  fought 
that  his  mother  should  not  be  taken  away  from  him,  and 
the  baby,  that  had  no  right  there  at  all,  lay  beside  the 
paralysed  woman,  and  set  up  its  own  false  plea  for  toler- 
ance. 

The  Jewish  Board  of  Guardians  is  an  organisation 
with  its  roots  deep  planted  in  the  throbbing  heart  of  hu- 
manity. Goodness  radiates  from  it  and  the  charity  that 
ignores  logic.  Its  almoners  understand  and  keep  its  un- 
written rules.  Karl  Althaus,  wheeling  a  barrow,  run- 
ning errands,  helping  a  Punch  and  Judy  man,  bringing 
home  his  daily  pence,  fighting  for  home  as  a  man  might 
fight,  won  from  them  the  man's  privilege  to  keep  his 
mother  with  him.  The  fight  was  hard  because  of  Ludwig ; 
nevertheless  the  Board  of  Guardians  paid  the  rent,  and 
allowed  them  ten  shillings  a  week. 

But  Ludwig  wanted  so  much,  and  there  was  little  for 
mother  and  the  baby,  so  Karl  knew  what  it  was  to  go 
hungry.  Once  he  went  nearly  forty-eight  hours  without 
food ;  that  is  how  he  learnt  pity,  learnt  never  to  say  "  No" 
to  a  beggar  who  pleaded  hunger.  It  is  not  easy  to  be 
honest  when  there  is  abundance  all  around,  when  there 
are  warm-smelling  bakers'  shops,  tempting  things  on  bar- 
rows, or  exposed  on  the  pavement,  and  from  the  hooks 
that  butchers  use.  Karl,  in  the  streets,  learnt  the  morality 
of  the  streets,  they  were  his  public  school.  Often  after  he 
had  tidied  the  room,  done  what  he  could  for  his  mother, 
and  fed  the  baby,  he  would  go  back  into  the  streets  where 


116  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

he  had  been  the  livelong  day,  they  would  grow  grey,  and 
cold,  and  unreal,  and  his  head  would  feel  large  and  empty, 
his  eyes  a  little  dim,  because  he  had  given  all  he  had 
earned,  and  his  growing  boyhood  starved.  These  were 
the  times  temptation  came  to  him.  He  could  not  beg. 
Everything  he  earned  Ludwig  took  from  him,  now  on  one 
plea,  now  on  another,  and  all  that  Karl  could  keep  back 
from  him  went  to  buy  the  milk  and  beef-tea  that  kept  his 
paralysed  mother  alive. 

Eighteen  months  he  worked  and  starved,  and  stole  per- 
chance, but  never  begged,  resolution  and  strength  grow- 
ing in  him  the  while  and  an  indomitable  greed.  All  around 
he  saw  what  he  wanted ;  wherever  he  wheeled  his  barrow, 
or  led  the  dog  round  to  collect  the  coppers,  or  held  horses, 
or  sold  newspapers,  all  around  he  saw  money,  and  the 
things  that  money  could  buy. 

Then  she  died,  the  mother  died.  The  Jewish  women 
who  came  from  the  synagogue  muttered  their  prayers  in 
Hebrew,  but  showed  the  poor  body  no  respect  when  they 
took  it  from  the  bed.  They  made  an  alien  of  him,  though 
it  was  thirty  years  before  he  voiced  himself  to  little  Joan 
de  Groot  in  Cape  Town.  The  neighbours  who  in  all  kind- 
liness said  to  him : 

"  It's  a  good  thing  she's  gone ;  now  you'll  be  free," 
made  an  exile  of  him  from  the  quarter.  He  had  loved 
his  burden,  hugged  it  to  him,  never  forgot  how  she  had 
worked  for  him.  He  knew  it  better  every  day;  he  re- 
membered lying  in  bed  in  his  baby  days,  and  seeing  her 
stitching  away  by  candle-light  to  make  him  his  velveteen 
suit  for  Saturdays.  Ludwig  had  pawned  the  suit;  but, 
when  Karl  saw  his  mother  at  last  dead,  indeed,  cold,  with 
closed  eyes,  he  remembered  it;  how  she  had  worked  at 
it  after  her  long  day's  toil  was  done,  how  she  would  come 
ever  and  anon  to  his  cot,  rumpling  his  curls  with  her 
large  hand,  while  she  kissed  him,  and  told  him  he  must 
go  to  sleep  now,  and  he  should  have  a  brave  suit  for  the 
Sabbath.  To  him  she  wasn't  a  fat  and  greasy  Jewess, 
with  a  black  fringe;  she  wasn't  a  poor  paralysed  figure 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  117 

eaten  up  by  bed-sores,  cruelly  wasted  and  hideous ;  she 
was  just  "  mother,"  the  best  thing  the  world  ever  showed 
him.  They  said: 

"  It's  a  good  thing  she's  gone,  at  last,"  and  that  broke 
him  down,  sent  him  away  from  Whitechapel,  away  from 
the  people  who  did  not  understand. 

Karl  Althaus,  the  multi-millionaire,  who  laughed  at 
Stephen  Hayward  for  being  short  of  a  thousand  pounds, 
and  at  Joan  for  being  scrupulous  at  accepting  five  thou- 
sand, did  not  find  people  very  ready  to  understand  him, 
then  or  ever.  A  big  heart  and  a  grasping  fist  seem  incon- 
gruous. 

He  had  a  wondrously  diversified  career  after  the  death 
of  his  mother,  and  sounded  every  note  in  the  gamut  of 
privation.  He  had  Louis  to  keep  as  well  as  himself, 
Louis,  the  little  by-blow  of  the  Whitechapel  provision 
shop.  He  had  promised  Louis's  mother,  and  he  kept  his 
promise;  though  oftentimes  hungry  Louis  cried  himself 
to  sleep  in  the  arms  of  hungry  Karl. 

Karl  was  a  pawnbroker's  assistant  at  the  beginning  of 
his  more  prosperous  period,  and  saved  his  wages  to  buy 
old  pledges  to  resell ;  he  was  clerk  in  a  foreign  bank  by 
the  time  he  had  put  Louis  to  school,  and  paid  for  the 
funeral  of  his  stepfather,  who  died  of  consumption  in  the 
Jewish  ward  of  the  London  Hospital,  begging  to  the 
last.  When  Karl  worked  his  passage  out  to  South  Africa, 
before  the  first  annexation,  he  had  with  him  money  of 
Messrs.  Oldberger  and  Sons,  and  they  had  not  lent  it 
'to  him.  A  year's  school  fees  for  Louis  had  been  paid  in 
advance  out  of  that  money.  But  he  paid  it  back  very  soon, 
and  wrote  Messrs.  Oldberger  a  manly  letter,  telling  them 
of  his  acute  necessities.  The  firm  forgave  him,  they  were 
of  a  forgiving  race ;  presently  they  began  to  do  business 
with  him,  and  finally,  which  makes  it  more  curious  still, 
Karl  became  their  partner. 

Karl  Althaus  was  at  the  birth  of  the  goldfields ;  he  also 
had  prospected  successfully  for  diamonds.  Is  it  possible 
to  make  millions  honestlv?  Karl  did  not  know  the  mean- 


118  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

ing  of  the  word,  never  learned  it.  But  he  was  untiringly 
industrious,  orientally  generous,  and  he  had  graduated 
in  sharpness  in  the  streets  of  Whitechapel.  He  swindled 
natives,  bamboozled  Dutchmen,  turned  over  the  money 
he  had  annexed  again  and  again.  In  early  days  he  played 
"  heads  I  win,  tails  you  lose"  all  the  time.  In  later  times 
he  made  the  chances  even  more  certain. 

Karl  lived  in  South  Africa  from  1875  to  1881.  Then 
he  came  home  with  a  strange  story  to  tell,  and  tried  to  get 
a  hearing  for  it  at  the  Colonial  Office.  He  failed,  failed 
absolutely,  hammering  at  the  iron-bound  door  of  official- 
dom in  vain.  Karl  guessed,  even  then,  that  the  time  would 
come  when  they  would  have  to  listen,  when  that  which  he 
had  to  tell  them  would  otherwise  be  thundered  into  their 
ears  by  guns,  and  shrieked  at  them  through  the  red  blaze 
of  battle.  He  knew  it,  many  men  in  South  Africa  knew, 
or  guessed,  but  neither  he  nor  they  got  a  hearing;  the 
Boer  delegates  had  it  all  their  own  way,  and  the  miserable 
Convention  was  signed  that  made  our  countrymen  helots 
where  they  should  have  been  heroes. 

Karl  did  not  care  very  much.  There  was  no  money  to 
be  made  by  political  success,  and  things  had  not  pro- 
gressed far  then.  The  slim  and  wily  Dutchman  kept  a 
show  of  justice,  and  ever  promised  decent  government. 
The  times  were  not  ripe,  the  grain  not  garnered,  the  guns 
not  bought. 

Karl,  received  in  London  Society  with  the  courtesy 
his  wealth  demanded,  and  at  the  Colonial  Office  with 
the  indifference  that  the  thing  he  had  to  tell  failed  to 
justify,  returned  to  South  Africa  to  get  more  gold  whilst 
it  was  possible.  He  had  learned  a  great  deal  during  his 
visit. 

He  went  back  and  held  a  candle  to  the  devil,  and  the 
devil  rewarded  him  royally  for  his  courtesy.  He  bribed 
and  robbed  and  intrigued  with  the  Boers,  not  against 
them:  he  obtained  concessions.  Every  one  connected 
with  him  grew  rich,  but  always  he  grew  richer. 

Then  the  dogs  he  fed  took  to  snarling,  and  he  could  no 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  119 

longer  listen  to  men  who  told  him  that  the  English  na- 
tion does  not  want  to  be  well  served,  she  wants  simply 
to  be  allowed  to  sleep,  peacefully.  For  he  met  Joan  de 
Groot,  and  learnt  that  there  were  many  better  things  than 
money ;  patriotism  being  among  them.  And,  as  we  have 
seen,  Karl  went  to  England  again,  and  tried  to  find  out  for 
himself  who  was  right.  Because  little  Joan  de  Groot  had 
touched  his  heart,  or  his  imagination,  in  some  strange 
way,  he  concluded  that  it  was  she.  Then  he  made  plans, 
and  of  all  the  plans  he  laid,  none  seemed  so  good  to  him 
as  the  one  that  touched  Stephen  Hayward. 

But  during  the  month  Karl  was  in  Cape  Town,  talking 
his  autobiography  to  Joan  de  Groot,  he  had  as  yet  made 
no  plans. 

Of  course  these  two  talked  politics  as  well  as  biog- 
raphy. They  had  different  standpoints,  different  motives, 
but,  nevertheless,  they  arrived  practically  at  the  same 
conclusions. 

The  two  races,  English  and  Dutch,  must  live  side  by 
side  under  the  English  flag.  The  weapon  of  power  had 
been  put  prematurely  into  a  hand  unfit  to  wield  it;  it 
must  be  taken  back.  This  Joan  persuaded  him.  Eng- 
land should  be  the  paramount  power  in  South  Africa,  and 
England  must  assert  this  now  with  loud  insistent  voice, 
before  the  newly-formed  Bond  should  have  time  to  weld 
the  party  whose  watchword  was  South  Africa  for  the 
Afrikanders.  Karl  recognised,  although  perhaps  he  over- 
rated, the  power  of  Joan's  pen.  He  wanted  her  to  write 
home  what  they  both  knew.  He  told  her  how  to  place 
and  marshal  her  facts.  He  had  his  private  ends  to  serve, 
of  course,  and  at  first  all  of  them  meant  only  money. 
Seeing  this,  she  remained  firm  against  his  arguments. 

She  would  only  write  what  she  felt  or  what  she  saw, 
and,  because  she  was  conscientious  and  literary  in  the 
finest  sense  of  the  word,  she  wrote  but  slowly,  and  little 
of  what  she  wrote  seemed  to  her  worthy  of  publication. 
Karl  knew,  better  than  Joan,  that,  if  she  for  ever  hit  the 
tin  tacks  of  fact  with  the  light  hammer  of  feminine 


120  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

argument,  she  would  never  build  a  platform.  She  must 
screw  in  wild  injustices,  exaggerated  histories,  she  must 
make  a  dust  and  a  whirl  about  her  work,  he  told  her. 

But  she  would  only  write  as  the  mood  seized  her,  and 
the  little  provocative  woman  laughed  at  his  arguments, 
and  flung  his  thinly-disguised  offers  of  bribery  back  in 
his  admiring  face,  and  clashed  her  wit  against  his  with 
bewildering  lightness.  Karl  would  have  given  her  every- 
thing. Whether  by  way  of  bribery,  because  he  wanted 
her  pen  as  his  mouth-piece,  or  whether  it  was  simply  that 
when  a  little  woman  bewitches  a  big  man  he  wants  to 
lavish  on  her  out  of  his  abundance,  even  out  of  his  pov- 
erty if  he  be  a  big  poor  man,  Karl  did  not  know  at  first, 
though  Joan  suspected.  Yet  she  took  nothing  from  him 
in  kind,  only  experience  and  sensation,  and  gradually  a 
dawning,  shaping  thought. 

Before  that  nebulous  thought  took  shape,  however, 
Karl  had  left  Cape  Town. 

All  that  he  said  to  Louis  about  Piet  de  Groot's  farm 
had  been  in  his  mind  when  he  had  come  to  Cape  Town, 
but  all  of  it  had  been  forgotten  whilst  Joan  was  teaching 
him.  It  revived,  momentarily,  when  he  went  to  say  good- 
bye to  her,  and  his  "  good-bye"  was  characteristic. 

"  I'm  off  to  England." 

"Business?" 

"  Business  and  politics  are  synonymous  just  now.  One 
thing — or  two,"  he  looked  at  her  in  the  little  pause  be- 
tween that  "  or  two,"  and  she  reddened;  "  I  want  before 
I  go.  I  want  to  get  in  touch  with  your  husband 

She  did  not  know  why  she  had  flushed,  but  still  his 
eyes  were  seeking  hers. 

"  Piet  is  ill;  he  is  in  Pretoria  just  now.  Dr.  Wolff  is 
treating  him." 

"  You  are  not  with  him." 

"  He  is  not  alone." 

Karl  understood,  having  heard  something  of  the  story. 

"  I  want  him  to  lease  me  the  farm,  or  sell  it." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  more  successful  in  obtaining  your 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  121 

other  desires  than  you  will  be  in  that,"  she  said  quickly, 
thoughtlessly. 

"  Do  you  ?"  he  answered,  and  the  undercurrent  of  feel- 
ing between  them  made  her  hurrkdly  continue  talking, 
so  that  only  the  surface  should  be  skimmed. 

"  Piet  will  never  sell  the  farm  while  there's  breath  in 
him." 

Karl  kept  the  conversation  for  the  moment  where  she 
had  led  it. 

"  He'll  have  to.  The  deep-level  of  the  Geldenreif  is 
under  it." 

"  That  won't  even  interest  him." 

Karl  grew  impatient. 

"  Now  then,  little  woman,  don't  talk  twaddle.  He's  ill, 
and  not  very  strong  in  his  brain-pan  when  he's  well,  but 
he's  not  ill  enough  to  be  allowed  to  browse  his  mangy 
ostriches  on  a  hundred  millions  of  gold  quartz." 

"  As  long  as  life  is  in  him  he  won't  sell  the  homestead. 
Why,  when  he  settled  it  on  me  on  our  marriage,  he  made 
me  promise  I  would  never  part  with  it.  And  then,  you 
know,"  she  added,  twinkling  her  blue  eyes  at  him,  "  he  is 
not  in  love  with  your  methods,  since  you  tried  to  do  him 
out  of  the  Four  Acre  because  he  had  let  you  use  it  as  a 
dumping  ground  for  a  few  years." 

"  Oh,  I  know  how  he  feels  towards  us.  I  know  how 
they  all  feel  towards  the  men  who  brought  the  money 
into  their  bankrupt,  starving  country;  but  they  are  get- 
ting to  the  end  of  their  tether.  I  tell  you,"  he  spoke  bit- 
terly, "  they  are  nearing  the  end,  putting  the  nails  in 
their  own  coffins.  Bewaarplatzen,  indeed!  Thieves!" 

And  she  laughed  at  his  bitterness,  at  his  indignation. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  it's  a  desperate  thing,  to  want  to  keep  what 
belongs  to  one  when  Karl  Althaus  wants  it  for  himself." 

The  light  laughter,  or  the  womanliness  of  her,  standing 
there,  so  small  and  brown  and  wilful,  moved  him  on  a 
sudden  to  her  side. 

"  Joan  !  Don't  be  frightened,  child,  little  woman ;  why, 
I  was  not  going  to  hurt  you." 


122  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

He  had  caught  hold  of  her,  for  Karl  was  primitive.  He 
had  startled  her.  It  was  not  the  first  episode  she  had 
passed  through,  or  provoked;  but  Karl  was  so  big  and 
not  young,  and  she  liked  him  so  much. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you."  His  face  was  tender, 
if  his  touch  had  been  rough.  She  left  her  hands  in  his, 
then,  though  her  heart  beat  fast,  and  her  breath  came 
quickly. 

"  That's  right,  take  it  quietly.  I  must  speak ;  you'll 
have  to  listen.  I'm  going  to  ask  for  something ;  but  you 
won't,  I  know  beforehand,  you  won't  give  it  me.  Damn 
it!  you're  such  a  good  little  woman!"  She  stood  quite 
still  now,  though  his  voice  was  thick,  and  his  grasp  on  her 
hands  tight. 

"  You  were  quite  right  in  what  you  said  just  then.  It's 
pretty  desperate  to  keep  from  Karl  Althaus  what  he 
wants." 

He  stopped  for  words  a  minute.  As  she  saw  his  agi- 
tation she  grew  suddenly  calm,  her  hands  resting  in  his ; 
some  comprehension,  some  sympathy  even,  were  in  her 
blue  eyes  as  she  watched  him.  He  recovered  himself. 

"  I  want  you!  God !  if  you  only  knew  how  I  want  you ! 
You  are  right  not  to  struggle,  dear ;  I  wouldn't  hurt  you, 
you  know  that,  well  enough.  Now  tell  me,  is  there  any- 
thing, anything  on  earth  I  could  give  you,  that  would 
make  you  come  to  me?" 

The  slow  colour  mounted  on  her  cheek,  flushed  up  to 
her  eyes,  and  blinded  them.  She  shook  her  head. 

"  Come ;  you  want  fame,  money  will  buy  fame.  You're 
such  a  little  thing,  and  the  world  is  such  a  big  place ;  you 
ought  to  have  some  one  to  take  care  of  you.  Joan,  let 
me  take  care  of  you,  let  me.  I'm  pretty  rough,  but  I 
minded  my  mother,  and  I've  minded  Louis.  I'll  be  so 
careful  of  you,  dear,  not  a  breath  shall  blow  on  you. 
Can't  you  do  it,  dear,  can't  you?"  She  only  shook  her 
head,  but  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Seeing  them,  he 
released  her  hands : 

"  Never  mind,  then ;    don't  cry."     He  walked  away 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  123 

from  her,  turned  his  back  to  her  a  minute.  When  he 
faced  her  again  her  tears  were  falling. 

"  Don't  cry.  I'm  a  blackguard  ever  to  have  thought  of 
it.  Nothing  you  have  said,  nothing  you  have  done,  war- 
rants it,  I  know  that ;  don't  you  think  I  don't  know  that  ? 
Come" — he  went  up  to  her  again — "  leave  off  crying.  I 
cannot  bear  it,  I  tell  you ;  you're  driving  me  mad  with  it ; 
forgive  me,  you'll  have  to  forgive  me,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  proud,  proud  you  want  me,"  she  cried.  He 
knelt  before  her  then,  and  took  both  her  little  hands  in  his 
roughened  ones,  and  kissed  them. 

"  You  are  such  a  good  little  woman.  I've  nothing  to 
tempt  you  with.  I'm  only  a  coster-boy  in  your  eyes,  I 
see  that ;  all  my  money  doesn't  help  me  with  you." 

Suddenly  she  put  her  face  down,  and  kissed  him  lightly 
on  the  cheek,  and  over  the  slow  flush  of  his  face  that  fol- 
lowed so  quickly  she  put  her  released  hand. 

"  Karl,  I'm  proud,  I  can't  help  it,  I'm  proud  you  like 
me.  It's  impossible;  you  know  it's  impossible.  There's 
Piet,  and  I  don't,  I  don't  love  you,  Karl."  Her  cheeks  too 
were  hot. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Piet?"  He  was  standing  again 
now,  out  of  breath  as  if  he  had  been  running,  moved  by 
that  sudden  kiss,  and  shaken  to  the  depths. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Piet,  dear ;  if  it  were  not  for 
Piet?"  Again  he  knelt,  and  laid  his  hot  lips  on  her  little 
hands. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  love  you."  She  left  him  her 
hands.  "  But  you  are  strong  and  so  different,  and  I  think, 
I  do  think  you're  good,  except  about  money.  And  no  one 
else  has  seemed  so  interesting,  and  I  am  glad  you  want 
me,  and " 

He  did  not  give  her  time  to  finish  her  sentence.  The 
big  man  had  risen  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Joan,  if  ever  there  is  no  Piet,  if  ever  you  are  a  free 
woman,  may  I  come  to  you  again?  Do  you  know  that 
kiss  you  gave  me  of  your  own  free  will,  my  sweet,  the 
only  kiss  I've  ever  had,  since  my  mother  died,  that  I 


124  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

haven't  paid  for,  that  kiss  has  somehow  made  you  sacred 
to  me.  Give  me  another,  little  Joan,  kiss  me  once  on  the 
lips.  Tell  me  that  I  may  come  to  you  again  some  day. 
Do  that,  and  I'll  let  you  go,  and  I'll  never  come  to  you 
again,  never,  until  you  are  free,  or  unless  you  send  for  me. 
You  don't  know  how  I  love  you ;  I  love  you  enough  to  do 
without  you." 

But,  though  his  lips  sought  hers,  they  only  brushed  her 
cheek.  She  struggled  against  him,  and  he  released  her  as 
soon  as  he  realised  it.  He  looked  at  her,  but  she  averted 
her  eyes. 

"  You  couldn't  do  it.  I'm  a  rough  chap,  whisky  sod- 
dened.  Never  mind;  give  me  your  hand  again." 

She  gave  them  both  without  a  word. 

"  I'm  off  now.  But  I  want  you  to  remember,  never  to 
forget,  that  you've  got  a  pal  in  Karl  Althaus.  I'll  come 
to  you  again  some  day  when  you  are  free,  not  until  then. 
God  forgive  me  for  having  soiled  you  with  such  a  thought 
as  I  had  in  my  mind.  You  forgive  me,  too,  I  know  that, 
dear ;  know  it  by  that  kiss.  Bless  you  for  it !  I'll  come  to 
you  when  you  are  free;  but  I  don't  suppose  it  will  be  of 
any  use  ?"  There  was  an  interrogative  note  on  the  linger- 
ing words. 

"I  don't  know."    Her  voice  was  stifled. 

"  Well — perhaps.    I  dare  not  stay — God  bless  you." 

And  he  was  gone,  with  a  slam  of  the  front-door  that 
might  have  been  heard  at  Government  House. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 


JOAN  missed  Karl,  but  she  was  a  writer  first,  and  a 
woman  afterwards,  and,  until  the  afterwards,  all  her 
experiences  took  the  form  of  phrases,  and  grouped  them- 
selves into  sentences  and  paragraphs.  The  nebulous 
thought  with  which  Karl  had  inspired  her  was  that  the  race 
story,  written  so  often,  must  now  be  written  differently. 
It  was  the  Jew  in  Karl  that  had  moved  her,  she  thought, 
for  that  she  had  been  moved  momentarily  there  was  no 
doubt,  and  it  was  to  sympathise  with  the  strange  lurid 
race  that  dominated  the  business  quarter  of  Cape  Town. 
Karl  had  been  fond  of  talking  of  Jews ;  he  had  contrived 
to  make  their  claim  insistent.  Now,  as  she  walked 
abroad,  she  saw,  behind  every  pair  of  sharp,  black  eyes, 
behind  bald  heads  and  prominent  noses,  in  stooping, 
shabby  forms  and  coarse  accents,  she  saw  that  large  intel- 
ligence, that  big  heart,  that  gentle  kindliness  of  Karl  Alt- 
haus.  She  saw  the  restless  hands  eager  to  grab,  ready  to 
give.  She  saw,  for  Joan's  light  blue  eyes  were  wires  to 
her  brain,  and  telegraphed  truly,  that  there  pulsed  be- 
neath these  sordid,  grasping,  greedy  Jews,  who  walked 
the  Cape  Town  streets  and  congregated  in  its  market- 
places, a  wealth  and  warmth  of  goodness,  of  generosity, 
of  which  the  colder,  slower,  Northern  men  were  scarcely 
capable.  She  saw  them  often  dishonest,  never  brutal,  with 
the  lowest  standard  of  honour,  and  the  highest  ideal  of 
Brotherhood. 

But  she  missel  Karl  for  hardly  more  than  a  week. 
Almost  before  her  hand  had  forgotten  that  painful  pres- 
sure of  his  big  fist,  almost  before  her  cheek  had  lost  the 
flush  where  his  rough  face  had  touched  her,  Karl  had  be- 
come a  figure-head ;  and  the  next  book,  the  "  Story  of  the 

125 


126  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Jew,"  began  to  quicken  in  her,  a  Jewish  novel — the  Jew- 
ish novel !  That  was  what  filled  her  nights  and  days ;  she 
was  big  with  it,  as  a  happy  woman  with  child.  It  had  no 
shape  or  expression  as  yet,  but  she  felt  the  life  in  it.  All 
the  people,  all  her  friends,  who  were  not  Jews,  spread  their 
vapid  personalities  and  weak  wiles,  their  dull  talk,  before 
her  in  vain.  She  walked  about  among  her  fellow-men  and 
women  as  one  walks  with  shadows ;  nothing  was  real  but 
the  book  she  was  going  to  write,  the  "  Book  of  the  Jew." 

Thus  it  was  that,  when  Karl  sent  Louis  to  her,  she  was 
malleable,  ready,  eager.  Karl  had  told  Louis  "  there  is  a 
little  woman  in  Cape  Town — "  and  he  had  shown  his  heart 
to  his  brother.  There  was  no  room  in  it  for  doubt,  or  fear, 
or  suspicion  of  Louis.  All  the  world  he  could  suspect 
and  doubt,  perhaps  fear,  before  he  grew  too  powerful  for 
fear,  but  Louis  and  he  were  alone  together  in  the  world- 
Karl  loved  him  loyally. 

When  Louis  left  Pretoria  for  Cape  Town  en  route  for 
England,  he  had  his  instructions.  He  was  to  influence 
Joan  de  Groot,  an  easy  task,  to  tackle  the  English  Govern- 
ment through  Stephen  Hayward,  an  enterprise  not  un- 
worthy of  his  talents. 

Van  Biene  was  jackal,  lawyer,  creature,  anything  one 
liked  to  call  him,  to  the  Unterwald  gang.  Louis  saun- 
tered into  Van  Biene's  office  the  morning  he  arrived  in 
Cape  Town.  After  a  few  preliminary  business  details  had 
been  run  through,  he  asked : 

"  Can  you  put  me  in  the  way  of  meeting  a  Mrs.  de 
Groot,  a  writing  woman ;  she  is  married  to  a  man  whose 
farm  we've  got  to  get.  Karl  gave  me  a  letter  to  her,  but 
that  is  too  formal  a  business." 

Van  Biene,  little  old  ferret  that  he  was,  looked  sharply 
over  his  spectacles  at  Karl  Althaus's  representative. 

"  She's  not  with  her  husband,  and  has  no  influence  with 
him.  Your  brother  knows  that." 

Louis,  in  the  easy-chair,  surveying  with  some  pride  the 
patent  leather  shoe  that  covered  the  "  best  instep  in  South 
Africa,"  smiled,  caressing  his  dark  moustache. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  127 

"  Karl  couldn't  pull  it  off.  But  you  would  not  call  poor 
old  Karl  the  best  man  in  the  world  to  tackle  a  woman, 
now,  would  you?" 

He  gave  another  upward  turn  to  that  dark  moustache 
with  a  hand,  small,  well  shaped,  sinewy. 

"  Come,  out  with  it — where  is  she  to  be  found  ?  I  ex- 
pect I'll  know  how  to  make  her  work  in  our  interests." 

Louis's  self-satisfied  smile  and  manner,  his  shiny,  im- 
maculate clothes,  the  whole,  handsome,  assured  air  of 
him,  irritated  the  old  lawyer.  Van  Biene's  little  mouth 
was  all  awry,  as  if  he  had  tasted  something  nauseous, 
when  he  answered: 

"  She's  not  your  sort  at  all.  You  really  should  not 
waste  yourself  on  a  woman  given  up  to  literature  and 
politics.  She  is  not  an  adventurous  woman.  Curl  up  your 
moustaches  from  now  till  doomsday,  they  won't  appeal  to 
Joan  de  Groot." 

Happily  Louis  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  himself  in  the 
mirror  over  the  mantel,  and  he  smiled  again  at  the  reflec- 
tion. He  need  not  put  himself  out  of  the  way  to  be  civil 
to  old  Van  Biene,  they  had  half  a  hundred  holds  over 
him. 

"  Had  a  look  in  in  that  quarter  yourself,  old  man?  She 
seems  very  attractive  to  fogeys.  Even  old  Karl  was  im- 
pressed. But  go  on,  hurry  up,  I've  no  time  to  waste.  I'm 
off  to  England  in  a  fortnight.  Whom  does  she  visit  ?" 

"  Give  up  the  idea.  She  can't  help  us.  If  she  could, 
I  am  not  sure  that  she  would.  You've  nothing  to  bribe 
*her  with."  Van  Biene  shot  another  disgusted  glance  at 
Louis.  "  She  won't  notice  your  clothes,  and  if  it  had 
been  a  question  of  money — I  believe  you'll  allow  Karl 
could  bid  as  high  as  you  can." 

Still  Louis  smiled.  The  old  lawyer's  irritation  with  him 
was  nothing  new. 

"  Oh !  you  notice  they  fit,  do  you  ?  Poole's  best  cut- 
ter !"  He  felt  where  the  well-pressed  trouser  exhibited  its 
regular  seam,  patted  his  chest  where  the  double-breasted 
waistcoat  showed  there  was  a  waist  to  consider.  "  But 


128  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

get  along ;  spit  it  out."  Louis's  refinement  was  one  of  the 
garments  he  only  wore  for  special  occasions.  "  You've 
got  to  do  what  I  ask,  so  why  make  such  a  fuss  about  it? 
Where  does  the  woman  hang  out?  I  haven't  got  the  let- 
ter with  me.  If  I  can't  meet  her  about,  I  shall  have  to 
make  a  formal  call." 

Still  Van  Biene  hesitated. 

"  She's  got  ink  in  her  veins,  not  blood.  They've  all 
been  at  her;  your  brother  Karl  wasn't  the  only  one  that 
had  a  story  to  tell.  But  nobody  moves  her ;  you  leave 
her  alone  with  her  books.  You'll  do  nothing  with  her, 
and  then  you'll  grow  spiteful.  I  know  you." 

"  I  believe  you're  frightened  to  bring  us  together.  By 
Jove !"  he  got  up  and  walked  round  the  lawyer,  survey- 
ing him  with  some  interest,  "  I  never  looked  upon  you  in 
that  light  before.  Somehow  or  other,  you  never  struck 
me  as  a  Don  Juan." 

"  Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"  And  what  does  Mrs.  Van  Biene  say  to  it,  eh  ?" 

A  lecherous,  treacherous  fellow,  Van  Biene  thought 
Louis  Althaus,  scarcely  white ;  his  contempt  was  mingled 
with  hatred.  Yet,  if  he  did  not  give  him  the  asked-for 
opportunity,  some  one  else  would ;  there  was  no  difficulty 
in  meeting  Joan  de  Groot  in  Cape  Town  society. 

"  If  you  are  really  set  on  knowing  her,  you  can  dine 
with  my  wife  to-night.  Mrs.  de  Groot  and  her  brother 
are  both  coming,"  he  said  sullenly.  Louis  patted  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before  ?  What  a  man  you  are, 
to  be  sure.  I'll  be  there — ta-ta.  And,  if  I  notice  any- 
thing, I'll  not  say  a  word  to  Mrs.  B." 

"Phew!" 

Van  Biene  breathed  again,  the  office  was  clear  of  Louis. 
But  he  sat  down  to  his  desk  with  some  presentiment  of 
evil,  some  uneasiness.  Joan  was  eclectic  in  her  innocent 
flirtations,  and  the  wizened  old  lawyer  had  a  keen  brain, 
and  an  appreciative  wit.  His  dry  cynical  humour,  his 
knowledge  of  men,  had  made  him  a  congenial  companion 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  129 

to  her.  There  was  a  sympathy  between  them  that  neared 
friendship. 

"  A  lecherous,  treacherous  fellow,"  he  thought,  "  but 
she'll  see  through  him." 

Still  he  worked  uneasily.  He  knew  more  about  Piet  de 
Groot  and  his  farm  than  Louis  did.  But  what  he  knew 
Louis  might  soon  learn,  and,  if  what  he  had  heard  was 
true,  then  Joan  might  indeed  become  essential  to  the  in- 
terests of  the  Unterwald  Company,  in  which  case,  better 
Karl  than  Louis  to  play  the  game  for  them.  The  lawyer 
was  uneasy,  for  he  appreciated  Joan,  perhaps  guessed 
where  she  might  be  weak. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  Louis's  good  looks.  His 
dark  eyes  were  Spanish  in  their  sleepy  depths,  his  brushed 
up  moustache  and  slight  imperial  kept  the  foreign  contour 
of  his  face,  but  his  fair  skin  was  English,  pale  and  clear. 
The  hair  had  retreated  a  little  on  his  temples,  he  wore  it 
brushed  back,  without  a  parting,  lying  as  straight  and 
sleek  as  the  valet  could  make  it,  but  at  the  nape  of  the 
neck  you  could  see  the  end  of  the  wave  it  had,  and  his 
neck  was  firm  and  white,  his  head  splendidly  set  upon  it. 

Van  Biene  watched  from  the  window  Louis's  graceful 
saunter  down  Adderley  Street.  His  grace  had  in  it  some- 
thing feline  to  Van  Biene's  old  eyes,  but  he  knew  he  saw 
him  differently  from  the  way  others  did.  Louis  was  tall 
and  lean  of  flank,  his  back  was  straight  with  a  fall  towards 
the  waist,  the  slight  slope  in  his  shoulders,  the  easy  move- 
ment from  the  hips,  were  part  of  the  fine  make  of  him. 

"  Damn  him !  he  looks  like  a  gentleman,"  said  Van 
Biene,  when  he  left  the  window  and  went  back  to  his 
papers. 

That  evening  when,  for  the  first  time,  Joan  met  those 
dark  melancholy  eyes,  she  saw  little  else.  They  were 
brown  eyes,  blue  in  the  whites,  brown  in  the  centres, 
there  was  depth  in  them  and  melancholy,  they  spoke,  they 
seemed  to  tell  a  history ;  they  brought  "  Thaddeus  of 
Warsaw"  to  her  mind.  She  was  only  a  writing  woman 
at  the  beginning  of  that  dinner,  and  she  thought  here  was 

9 


130  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

another  chapter  for  her  book,  the  agony  of  Poland,  vi- 
brant, inarticulate. 

"  I  wanted  to  know  you,"  was  all  Louis  said,  as  he 
bowed  over  her  hand  with  that  graceful  half-foreign 
gesture  of  his.  "  I  came  here  to-night  on  purpose  to 
meet  you." 

"  I  am  flattered."  Joan  was  used  to  compliments,  but 
to-night,  somehow,  she  was  not  at  her  ease  with  Karl 
Althaus's  adopted  brother. 

"  I  am  glad  I  asked  Mrs.  Van  Biene  to  send  us  in  to- 
gether." Joan  was  glad  too.  It  was  absurd,  but  she  was 
glad.  She  knew  so  little,  with  all  that  she  had  written 
of  love,  and  written  well,  that  she  took  no  warning  when, 
as  she  laid  her  fingers  lightly  on  his  coat  sleeve,  she  felt 
a  thrill  run  up  her  arm,  a  thrill  that  ended  in  her  heart,  in 
a  slight  shudder,  in  an  accelerated  breath  and  pulse-beat. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  Karl  Althaus's  brother,"  she  an- 
swered, and  blushed,  remembering.  For  an  instant  his 
eyes  met  hers,  and  she  wondered  if  indeed  she  was  glad 
because  he  was  Karl  Althaus's  adopted  brother.  But  for 
a  little  space  she  spoke  of  Karl  breathlessly,  and  Louis 
looked  at  her;  his  pointed  tongue  now  and  again  moist- 
ened those  thin  lips  of  his,  his  hand  caressed  his  imperial, 
brushed  up  his  moustache  until  the  ends  were  feathery 
and  light  against  the  transparent  skin,  and  his  eyes  were 
melancholy  and  impenetrable.  Everything  about  him  had 
a  subtle  indefinable  attraction  and  charm  for  the  girl- 
woman,  who  had  been  for  a  short  time  the  wife  of  Piet  de 
Groot,  and  for  the  rest  had  thought  that  literature  was  life. 

Afterwards  Joan  knew  that  it  had  been  a  strange  din- 
ner. She  had  eaten  nothing ;  there  had  been  an  unusual 
nervousness  about  her.  She  had  torn  her  menu  into  little 
bits  and  played  with  the  pieces — she  remembered  that,  but 
what  they  had  said  to  each  other  she  could  not  recall.  It 
seemed  to  her  she  had  scarcely  looked  at  him,  yet  she 
knew  that  those  dark  eyes  had  starry  centres,  she  knew  his 
voice  was  soft  and  low,  she  heard  again  the  slight  roll  of 
his  "  r's,"  as  if  they  left  his  tongue  reluctantly. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  131 

And  the  poor  little  clever  fool,  going  home  to  lie  awake 
and  dream,  with  a  soft  hand-pressure  coming  back  again 
and  again  always  with  its  own  thrill  and  message,  thought 
it  was  all  because  the  quickening  idea  was  embodied, 
and  that  the  Jew  of  dreams  was  incarnated  to  make  her 
book  live. 

A  writer,  born,  not  made,  has  this  apart  from  other 
men  and  women,  a  power  of  detachment,  an  impersonal 
double  sense  that  visualises  the  picturesque,  the  apposite, 
and  sees  it  apart  from  its  surroundings,  framed  and  made 
separate.  The  writer  born,  not  made,  can  sit  by  the 
deathbed  of  a  beloved  one  and  forget  the  dying,  see  the 
dear  face  on  the  pillow,  listen  to  the  laboured  difficult 
breathing,  hideous  with  the  hoarse  death-rattle,  and  be 
filled  with  naught  but  the  difficulty  of  translating  the 
scene  into  phrase,  of  grouping  the  sentences  so  as  to  make 
the  room  with  its  medicine  bottles,  its  white-capped  nurse 
and  drug-smells  stand  out,  solemn  and  cold  and  clear 
in  the  black  and  white  sharp  outline,  the  shadowlessness 
of  print. 

Joan  sat  at  that  dinner-party,  the  deathbed  of  so  much 
that  was  strong  and  self-reliant  and  powerful  in  her,  the 
deathbed  of  her  girlhood  and  her  untroubled  heart  and  her 
innocent  spirit,  and,  as  she  nervously  shredded  the  menu 
card,  she  mentally  described  the  dinner-table,  the  flowers 
and  white  napery,  the  silver  dishes  heaped  with  fruit,  the 
shaded  candles  and  the  glass,  saw  it  always  and  merely  as 
a  chapter  in  the  "  Book  of  the  Jew."  Only  she  never  fore- 
saw in  print  the  vague  unrest  that  throbbed  its  warning 
to  her ;  she  could  neither  search  for  nor  find  a  phrase  to 
meet  her  quickening  pulse. 

There  is  a  mystery  known  to  all  who  know  men  and 
women,  to  all  who  have  insight  into,  sympathy  with,  or 
understanding  of,  their  fellow-travellers,  but  it  is  blank 
and  incomprehensible  to  the  Pharisees,  and  to  all  who 
would  read  and  run  at  the  same  time.  This  is  a  mystery 
that  fills  the  divorce  courts,  mocks  the  incredulous,  and 
sets  at  naught  all  creeds  and  convictions.  It  is  that  a 


132  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

certain  something,  subtle,  sweet,  and  rare,  not  a  perfume, 
not  a  touch,  but  an  echo  of  both,  light,  elusive,  all- 
pervading,  is  the  special  property  of  some  loose-living 
men,  a  property  that  is  beyond  the  reach  of  analysis,  but 
recognisable  in  the  freemasonry  of  the  passions  by  ail 
who  have  realised  its  existence.  It  is  as  the  candle  to  the 
moth,  as  the  rose  to  the  butterfly,  as  the  magnet  to  the 
steel.  It  is  a  surface  lure  of  sex,  it  is  an  all-compelling 
whisper,  almost  it  seems  that  to  hear  it  is  to  obey.  But 
some  ears  are  deaf  to  it,  some  few  dull  ears.  Van  Biene, 
wizened  and  bitter  and  old,  knew  of  this  mystery;  he 
knew  it  well,  knew  too  that  Louis  Althaus  held  the  key 
to  it  in  that  sleek  head,  that  strait  back  and  those  sloping 
shoulders,  those  lean  flanks  and  nervous  hands,  knew  that 
the  co-respondent,  no  less  than  the  poet,  is  born,  not  made. 
But  he  thought  Joan's  ears  were  deaf, — he  hoped  Joan's 
ears  were  deaf ;  so  dull  she  had  proved  to  other  men  who 
had  tempted  her  with  other  wiles. 

On  the  evening  of  the  dinner-party  he  watched  those 
two,  watched  the  bright  alertness  fade  a  little  out  of  the 
woman's  face,  and  her  lids  veil  her  eyes.  Out  of  the  cor- 
ners of  them  she  would  look  now  and  again  at  Louis,  but 
it  seemed  that  she  too  was  nervous,  Van  Biene  missed 
her  low  laughter.  He  noted  the  small  fingers  mechanic- 
ally tearing  up  the  name-card,  then  the  menu.  And  all  the 
time  Louis  talked  in  a  low  voice,  disjointed  talk  it  seemed 
to  the  old  man  watching,  and  Louis's  wonderful  eyes  were 
full  of  softness,  and  his  voice  with  the  burred  "  r's" 
sounded  musical,  and  the  atmosphere  in  which  these  two 
apparently  sat  apart  from  all  the  others  seemed  charged 
with  electricity. 

For  those  two  there  was  nobody  else  at  the  dinner- 
party; Louis  absorbed  Joan,  and  was  absorbed  by  her. 
Van  Biene  ground  his  teeth  at  them,  but  knew  he  was 
powerless. 

There  had  been  cross  motives  running  in  Louis's  subtle 
handsome  head,  when  he  had  asked  for  the  invitation, 
when  he  had  entered  the  dining-room.  But  Joan  herself 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  133 

blotted  out  her  farm  that  evening  with  Louis  no  less  than 
she  had  done  with  Karl;  there  was  not  a  doubt  about 
that.  Her  charm  surprised  him  out  of  his  scheming.  He 
was  not  too  absorbed,  however,  to  notice  Van  Biene's 
expression,  and  his  vanity  was  all  alert.  That  Joan  was 
what  she  was,  excited  it  further.  Karl,  steady  old  Karl, 
rough  old  Karl,  had  had  a  fancy  for  her  too,  he  remem- 
bered, and  he  laughed  to  himself  at  the  thought  that  Karl 
should  rival  him  here.  The  woman  was  made  for  him, 
he  felt  that  immediately ;  he  tried  to  convey  it  too.  He 
knew  many  tricks  and  subtleties  to  awaken  light  thoughts 
in  light  women.  Joan's  innocence,  ignorance,  instinctive 
purity,  missed  them  all.  Quickly,  very  quickly,  he  saw, 
he  realised  that,  if  success  was  to  follow  him,  he  must,  as 
he  worded  it  to  himself,  begin  at  the  beginning ;  it  was  a 
new  language  he  must  teach  her.  He  had  not  hoped  for 
all  he  saw. 

He  had  expected  to  find  the  celebrated  authoress  a 
mere  writing-machine,  an  ink-stained,  bony  thing,  not 
even  young.  In  reality,  she  was  as  delicate  as  a  Cosway 
miniature,  with  an  eighteenth  century  piquancy  in  her 
grace.  Joan  wore  green  that  evening,  a  soft  dress,  with 
some  white  stuff,  still  transparent,  draping  the  shoul- 
ders. But  the  shoulders  themselves  were  whiter  than 
the  stuff  that  draped  them,  a  wonderful  creamy  white. 
On  the  left  side  Louis  saw  there  was  a  dimple,  they  had 
not  got  as  far  as  the  entrees  before  he  knew  it  was  there 
for  him.  Her  arms  were  round,  like  a  baby's  arms,  and 
again  there  were  dimples  in  the  elbows,  and  slender  wrists, 
and  small  hands  with  tapering  fingers,  and  Louis's  heart, 
though  it  was  as  wizened  as  Van  Biene's  figure,  beat  fast. 

"Is  it  true  that  you  only  care  for  pen  and  ink,  that  you 
•want  to  write,  and  not  to  live?"  Louis  Althaus  talked 
ever  in  questions. 

"  It  seems  the  same  thing  to  me,"  Joan  answered  sim- 
ply. But  that  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  dinner,  for 
very  soon  the  mystery  of  Louis  touched  her  senses.  "  I 
have  never  cared  for  anything  or  anybody  I  know  ">o 


134  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

much  as  I  have  cared  for  the  things  and  the  people  I  have 
imagined." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  cared  for  the  people  you  have 
imagined." 

The  delicate  colour  stole  into  her  cheeks. 

"  Imagined  I  cared,"  she  interpolated  and  smiled,  but 
nervously.  Was  he  familiar,  impertinent?  She  hardly 
knew;  at  any  rate,  when  she  had  time  to  analyse  her 
feelings,  she  thought  she  would  find  she  had  material  for 
a  new  chapter. 

"  But  in  real  life,"  he  persisted,  his  voice  low,  "  in  real 
life,  have  you  ever  cared?" 

The  voice  and  the  words  penetrated,  or  perhaps  it  was 
the  dark  eyes,  soft  yet  searching,  and  all  at  once  Joan 
knew  she  was  lonely,  and  that  love,  love  of  which  she 
read,  of  which  she  wrote,  had  been  nothing  but  a  pulse- 
less word,  colder  than  print.  Her  loneliness  shuddered 
through  her,  and  then  was  gone,  and  the  low  voice  with 
its  burred  "  r's"  filled  its  place. 

It  was  a  short  dinner,  a  shorter  evening.  Louis  never 
left  Joan's  side.  The  drawing-room,  heavy  with  flowers, 
the  women  in  their  decolletage,  in  their  diamonds,  the 
loud-voiced  men,  the  music,  swayed  about  her,  and  seemed 
unreal,  absurd,  negligible.  She  hardly  grasped  the  pur- 
port of  the  things  he  said  to  her,  of  the  things  he  com- 
pelled her  to  answer.  In  some  strange  way  he  made  her 
conscious  of  emotions  which,  until  this  evening,  she  had 
never  known  were  possible  to  her.  And  the  bright  elusive 
womanhood,  which  had  bewitched  Karl,  Louis  saw  shy 
and  wild,  and  he  wanted  it,  as  men  want  always  to  bring 
down  wild  things.  Every  trick  began  to  tell,  every  move 
"  to  come  off,"  but,  as  the  evening  wore  on,  he  forgot  to 
be  tricky  and  studied.  What  there  was  of  man  in  him 
woke  up  and  wanted  her.  He  was  amazed  at  himself. 
What  he  had  meant — but  he  did  not  stay  to  remember 
what  he  had  meant ;  only,  as  he  walked  back  to  the  hotel 
that  night,  he  said  to  himself  that  he  was  in  love,  and  he 
knew  it  was  for  the  first  time,  and  even  to  Louis  Althaus 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  135 

it  seemed  that  the  summer  night  was  more  beautiful  than 
ever  summer  night  had  seemed  before. 

And  Joan! 

It  was  Louis  who  had  put  the  cloak  about  her  shoul- 
ders, who  had  whispered  passionately  in  her  ear: 

"  We  shall  meet  again ;  we  must  meet  again." 

She  heard  the  words  as  one  hears  far  off  the  strain  of 
some  sweet  distant  music,  entrancing,  strange,  exciting. 
She  heard  them  until  she  fell  asleep.  She  understood 
nothing  of  what  had  happened  to  her,  why  her  heart  beat 
fast,  why  her  pulses  throbbed,  why  her  cheeks  glowed  in 
the  darkness.  It  must  be  because  she  had  found  the  hero 
for  the  "  Book  of  the  Jew,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  at  last 
she  dropped  into  happy  dreams. 

Three  days  passed  before  they  met  again,  and,  in  the 
meantime,  Joan  found  a  strange  paralysis  had  overtaken 
her  pen.  For  hours  she  sat  with  it  suspended  over  a 
blank  sheet,  whilst  no  thought  came  to  her,  no  phrases 
framed  themselves ;  she  was  conscious  only  of  a  restless- 
ness, of  an  excitement,  for  which  she  had  no  name.  She 
left  off  trying  to  write,  and  took  long  solitary  walks  in- 
stead ;  she  became  certain  it  was  exercise  she  needed. 
Her  brother  had  often  told  her  she  led  too  sedentary  a 
life.  Now  she  abandoned  her  pen  altogether.  When  the 
solitary  walks  only  tired  her,  and  the  charm  of  Nature 
vanished,  when  the  Victoria  Road  with  its  tropical  foliage, 
flamboyant  with  blossoms,  and  the  sapphire  sea  that  glit- 
tered in  the  sun,  and  the  turquoise  sky  that  hung  above 
it,  actually  began  to  pall  upon  her,  began  to  spell  unrest, 
excitement  without  cause,  the  atmosphere  seeming  too 
clear  and  searching,  she  turned  her  footsteps  towards  the 
business  portion  of  the  town.  She  threw  herself  fever- 
ishly into  her  household  duties,  made  daily  pilgrimages 
to  Cartwright's  stores,  selecting  groceries  as  if  they  had 
suddenly  become  of  vital  importance.  Then,  too,  she  took 
a  strange  interest  in  her  toilette;  all  at  once  her  dresses 
seemed  old,  or  shabby,  or  unbecoming.  She  spent  one 
whole  morning  at  Stuttaford's,  trying  on  rich  stuffs,  dis- 


136  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

carding  pattern  after  pattern,  dissatisfied,  but  not  know- 
ing why. 

She  hardly  thought  of  Louis,  at  least,  she  hardly  knew 
she  thought  of  him,  but  the  set  of  his  handsome  head  and 
his  dark  eyes,  followed  her  about,  and  pursued  her  awake 
or  asleep,  followed  her  into  Stuttaford's  as  into  Cart- 
wright's,  became  mingled  with  the  clothes  no  less  than 
with  the  household  stores. 

Twice  a  week  the  military  band  played  in  Government 
Gardens ;  there  too  Joan  walked,  or  sat,  noting  the  faces 
that  she  knew,  evading  the  acquaintances  who  would  have 
monopolised  her,  a  solitary  figure,  watching.  To  herself 
she  said  she  was  pursuing  the  idea,  trying  to  track  down 
the  inspiration  that  only  a  week  ago  she  had  found  in 
every  Jewish  face  and  form,  but,  if  indeed  it  was  that  she 
sought,  it  eluded  her  perfectly. 

When  she  saw  Louis  there  was  a  rapid  flow  of  blood 
to  the  heart,  and  then  a  reaction.  He  was  not  as  hand- 
some as  she  remembered  him;  he  looked  better  in  even- 
ing than  in  walking  dress.  Hurriedly  she  said  these  things 
to  herself.  Her  bow  to  him  was  quite  slight.  She  thought 
he  would  have  passed  on ;  she  made  no  motion  that  there 
was  room  on  the  seat  beside  her,  yet  he  stopped  before 
her  and  spoke. 

"  They  are  playing  very  well  to-day,"  she  said,  as  if 
both  of  them  were  thinking  of  the  military  band. 

"Ver-ry,"  he  said,  with  the  "  r's"  just  as  they  had 
echoed  in  her  dreams.  "  I  knew  we  should  meet  again," 
he  added.  "  May  I  sit  down?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  permission.  When  he  sat  down  by 
her  side  Joan  thought  that,  after  all,  he  was  just  as  good 
looking  by  daylight.  Only  the  hat  covered  the  broad  fore- 
head, the  lower  part  of  the  face  was  narrower.  His  eyes 
spoke  eloquently ;  his  gaze  at  her  was  intent.  "  At  last !" 
he  said. 

"  You  had  difficulty  in  finding  a  seat  ?" 

He  would  not  follow  her  lead,  would  not  keep  the  con- 
versation at  her  level. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  137 

"  Did  you  feel  that  we  should  meet  again  ?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  don't  know.  Oh !  why  do  you  talk 
so  strangely  to  me?"  A  school-girl  could  not  have  an- 
swered with  more  confusion.  Why  had  he  not  let  her 
talk  commonplaces,  and  get  quiet  in  her  heart,  which  now 
beat  too  loudly?  She  was  not  well,  she  was  quite  sure 
she  could  not  be  well,  her  nerves  were  playing  her  such 
strange  tricks. 

"  Have  you  thought  of  me,  missed  me,  wanted  me  ?" 
said  Louis.  "  All  the  world  has  been  different  with  me 
since  I  met  you  that  evening.  I  can't  talk  rubbish ;  I  can't 
pretend ;  I  must  know  what  you  have  been  feeling.  Tell 
me,  did  it  mean  anything  to  you  that  at  last  we  had  met? 
Did  it  seem  to  you  like  that,  that  at  last  we  had  met,  found 
each  other?  There  has  never  been  anything  but  you  in 
my  life,  I  swear  it." 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  timidly.  And  Louis's 
heart  swelled,  for,  was  she  not  the  cleverest  woman  in 
South  Africa,  the  authoress  of  "  The  Kaffir  and  his 
Keeper"  ?  Van  Biene  had  defied  him  to  win  her,  and  old 
Karl  had  failed.  Yet,  here  she  was,  flushing  and  paling, 
and,  if  his  own  heart  was  beating  fast,  well  he  knew  that 
hers  was  beating  faster. 

"  Karl  has  spoken  of  you  to  me  so  often,"  she  said 
weakly. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  Karl ;  don't  talk  to  me  of  any  one 
but  yourself.  Come,  let  us  go  for  a  walk  together." 

"  Down  Fleet  Street,  like  Dr.  Johnson  ?"  she  said,  with 
a  nervous  laugh,  but  rising,  nevertheless. 

"  Not  like  anybody  but  ourselves,"  he  answered. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  very  wrong  to  take  it  for  granted  you 
want  to  be  with  me  as  I  with  you.  Tell  me,  am  I  wrong  ? 
Have  you  thought  of  me  since  that  night  ?" 

"  One  always  thinks  of  a  pleasant  evening." 

"  Don't  put  me  off ;  I  don't  want  generalities.  You 
have  never  been  out  of  my  mind  for  a  moment.  Have 
you  thought  of  me  at  all  ?  I  must  know."  There  was  no 
response,  and  he  continued  earnestly.  "  Don't  let  us 


138  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

stand  here  and  talk  in  the  midst  of  people.  I  want  to  be 
alone  with  you.  Do  you  feel  that?  Do  you  feel  we  have 
thousands  of  things  to  say  to  each  other?" 

"  It  is  very  nice  here,"  she  said,  moving  on  neverthe- 
less. 

She  liked  walking  by  his  side.  Considering  his  appear- 
ance alone,  he  was  a  man  by  whose  side  any  woman  might 
have  liked  to  walk.  There  were  other  people  walking  up 
and  down,  and  several  bowed  to  Joan.  Louis's  hat  was 
of!  half-a-dozen  times  in  as  many  minutes.  All  Louis's 
ways  had  that  half-foreign  suggestion  about  them  that 
appealed  to  her ;  he  took  off  his  hat  to  the  veriest  stranger 
with  a  bow,  with  a  graceful  movement.  She  liked  him 
better  with  his  hat  off,  then  she  saw  the  sweep  of  the  dark 
hair  above  the  low  brow;  even  the  slight  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  as  he  turned  to  her  again  and  mutely  com- 
plained of  the  interruption,  she  found  fascinating.  He 
moved  in  his  clothes  so  that  one  saw  how  the  muscles  ran 
beneath  the  skin,  saw  his  litheness  and  grace. 

"  I  can't  talk  surface  talk  to  you,"  he  said ;  "  I  don't 
know  why.  You  noticed  that,  even  the  first  evening? 
We  seemed  to  have  met  before,  to  understand  each  other 
at  once?" 

"  Don't  talk  in  questions  —  I  don't  know  —  I  haven't 
thought  at  all;  I've  been  busy.  What  have  you  been 
doing  ?  what  do  you  do  ?  Do  you  want  all  the  same  things 
your  brother  does?  I  don't  mean  for  South  Africa,  I 
mean  for  yourself.  Do  you  collect  pictures,  and  heap  mil- 
lions upon  millions  like  Pelion  upon  Ossa,  and  go  on 
doing  it  because  it  has  become  a  habit?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  like  Karl?" 

She  cast  a  side  glance  at  him,  caught  a  smile  and  re- 
turned it.  No;  he  was  not  like  Karl,  she  felt  a  throb  of 
disloyalty,  for,  if  Karl  had  been  rough,  he  had  been  sin- 
cere. He  was  coarsely  moulded,  badly  built,  big  and 
heavy,  but  he  had  been  gentle  with  her,  good  to  her. 
Louis  beside  him  was  as  "  Hyperion  to  a  satyr."  But  she 
ought  not  to  have  smiled.  She  was  sorry  she  had  smiled 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  139 

back,  and  he  caught  her  regret  and  answered  it  before  it 
was  spoken. 

"  He  is  a  good  fellow,  there  is  no  one  like  old  Karl. 
But  you  must  not  make  me  jealous  of  him.  You  ought 
not  to  have  met  him  first." 

In  the  valley,  through  the  afternoon,  they  walked  and 
talked.  Louis  was  no  pedestrian,  but  a  little  way  up  the 
green  precipitous  side  of  the  dominating  mountain  they 
wandered  together.  Then  the  shadow  of  the  quickly  de- 
scending mist  hid  the  turquoise  sky,  hid  the  wild  trun- 
cated top  of  the  Devil's  Peak,  laid  its  chill  warning  on 
them,  so  that  their  footsteps  halted.  Into  the  mist  Joan 
walked  presently,  but  to-day,  to-day  at  least,  she  turned 
back.  They  parted  at  her  brother's  door. 

The  love  idyll  between  these  two  took  no  time  in  the 
making.  It  sprang  into  life  almost  full-born.  Perhaps 
the  hot  African  sun  was  responsible.  Certainly  the  bar- 
riers that  convention  has  erected  between  man  and  woman 
seem  lower  in  those  southern  climes,  less  difficult  to  leap, 
more  easily  demolished.  The  situation  came  upon  the 
woman  so  suddenly,  so  unexpectedly,  that  the  outposts 
were  carried  before  she  knew  a  sentinel  was  needed.  He 
had  found  the  weak  place  in  her  defence ;  he  was  in  the 
heart  of  the  citadel  before  she  realised  the  necessity  of 
hanging  out  a  flag.  She  found  the  days  empty  and  blank 
when  they  were  without  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the  touch 
of  his  hand,  the  desire  in  his  eyes,  even  before  she  had 
'  realised  that  his  eyes  held  a  desire,  and  that  in  her  trem- 
bling lips  and  fearful  heart  was  the  response. 

For  a  week  they  met  and  talked,  met  accidentally,  and 
had  sausage  and  eggs  together  at  Wronski's  in  Adderley 
Street,  met  by  appointment,  and  in  Louis's  light  Cape  cart 
went  the  Kloof  drive,  or  when  they  wanted  a  long  day 
together,  they  found  themselves  lingering  in  Father 
Peck's  strange  Caravanserie  at  Musenburg.  In  the  cu- 
rious sign-board  that  swung  from  the  lintel  there  they 
saw  a  mutual  message,  and  read  it  to  each  other.  The 
sudden  hail  storm — a  South  African  hail  storm — each 


140  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

drop  a  menace — that  bound  them  prisoners  there,  rejoiced 
their  hearts;  and  when,  on  leaving,  an  asp  in  their  path 
uplifted  a  hooded  head  and  danger  barred  their  way,  they 
had  less  thought  for  what  it  symbolised  than  the  huge 
Kaffir  who  made  an  end  of  it.  With  or  without  excuse 
they  met,  and  talked,  and  met  again,  finding  daily  in  each 
other's  society  the  something  that  each  felt  a  necessity 
of  existence.  For  three  weeks  they  met  and  talked,  real- 
ising strange  moments  and  the  thrills  that  silence  holds 
in  sudden  twilight,  and  then — then  Louis  voiced  their 
feelings. 

It  was  at  home,  in  her  own  little  drawing-room,  with 
its  books  and  flowers  and  the  nick-nacks  that  women 
gather  around  them,  that  Louis  became  explicit.  Joan 
had  been  trying  to  work,  and  was  holding  a  piece  of  em- 
broidery in  unsteady  hands ;  so  little  had  Louis  said  until 
then.  His  elbow  rested  on  the  mantelpiece,  he  was  look- 
ing down  upon  her  bowed  head,  with  its  wavy  crown  of 
brown  hair,  looking  down  on  the  small  fingers ;  his  words 
had  been  few,  and  she  could  still  pretend  to  work,  but 
of  his  presence  she  was  keenly  conscious,  every  fibre  of 
her  was  conscious  of  his  figure,  of  the  way  he  held  him- 
self. She  had  no  need  to  look  upon  him,  so  plainly  she 
saw  him,  though  her  head  was  bent  over  the  silks. 

"  It  won't  do,  Joan,"  he  said  at  length.  "  What  is  the 
good  of  pretending?  You  are  not  working;  you  can't 
work  whilst  I  am  here.  Look  up." 

She  obeyed  him ;  her  work  lay  upon  her  lap ;  she 
looked  up  and  met  his  eyes,  and,  seeing  what  was  in  them, 
dropped  her  own  again  with  crimsoned  cheek. 

"  Do  you  know  where  we're  drifting?"  he  went  on.  "  I 
am  sure  of  myself ;  are  you  sure  of  yourself  ?  I  warn  you 
now" — he  ought  to  have  warned  her  before — "  there  can 
be  no  going  back  for  us  two.  There  has  never  been  a 
woman  in  my  life  before." 

It  was  true ;  whatever  the  man  was,  he  spoke  the  truth 
to  her  then.  There  never  had  been  another  Joan,  and 
all  he  had  known  or  ever  felt  of  love  was  concentrated 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  141 

on  her,  while  everything  else  for  the  moment  he  had  for- 
gotten. It  would  come  to  him  again,  but  this  week  he 
had  remembered  nothing  but  that  Joan  de  Groot  was  the 
one  woman  in  all  the  world  for  him,  that  this  married 
woman  with  the  purity  of  a  girl,  this  genius  with  the 
heart  that  had  never  been  found,  this  delicate,  shy  wife 
who  had  no  husband,  was  the  goal  to  which  all  his  flirta- 
tions had  tended,  the  cut  de  sac  to  his  dreams  of  delight, 
the  end  of  his  strayings  into  the  gardens  of  love. 

"  I  warn  you  now ;  every  time  I  see  you  it  becomes 
more  impossible  for  us  to  live  without  each  other.  I  told 
you  the  very  first  evening,  although  you  did  not  believe 
it — I  saw  you  did  not  believe  it — that  love  is  pain." 

"  Ah !"  she  hardly  saw  it  now,  though  she  watched 
him,  and  listened  to  him.  If  he  threatened  her  with  love's 
penalties,  did  he  not  tempt  her  with  love's  delights? 
When  his  arms  were  around  her,  and  the  soft  surprise  of 
his  thin  lips  taught  her  more  than  his  threats,  she  remem- 
bered that  against  Karl's  arms  she  had  struggled,  but  now 
there  was  no  resistance  in  her ;  so  beautiful  he  was,  and 
passionately  tender. 

"  Joan,  in  a  week  I  am  going  to  England.  Am  I  to  go 
alone?  Am  I?" 

But  the  anguish  of  her  surrender  was  not  yet,  not 
nearly  yet.  She  could  still  struggle  against  him,  deny 
him.  She  could  plead  with  him,  and  every  plea  he  an- 
swered. All  the  sophistry  of  the  seducer  was  at  that  thin 
tongue-tip  of  his  that  moistened  his  lips.  He  was  gour- 
met, not  gourmand ;  delicately  he  would  have  his  feast- 
ing, and  the  full  flavour  of  it  he  would  realise.  He  had 
tact  and  self-restraint,  he  met  her  reluctance  with  an 
assumption  of  his  own,  led  her  after  him,  gently,  retreat- 
ing only  when  he  was  sure  she  would  follow.  He  weak- 
ened her  moral  fibre  so  slowly,  so  imperceptibly,  that  she 
thought  she  was  growing  philosophic,  when  in  truth  she 
was  only  growing  weak.  He  blotted  out  thought,  and 
gave  her  sensation  in  its  stead ;  she  vibrated  at  his  touch 
as  violin  strings  at  the  hand  of  a  musician ;  he  swept  the 


142  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

strings,  and  wonderful  chords  from  her  passionate  heart, 
from  her  luminous  brain,  answered  his  delicate  fingers. 
It  had  been  easy  to  win  Joan's  love,  easy  to  deepen  and 
widen  it,  until  it  engulfed  and  drowned  everything  but 
her  woman's  modesty;  but  the  rest  was  not  easy.  A 
hundred  times  under  the  spell  of  his  eyes  and  wandering 
lips,  and  encroaching  hands,  she  vowed  herself  to  him, 
and  promised  him  everything.  A  hundred  times  in  wild 
reactions  she  begged  him  with  passionate  tears  and  timid- 
ities to  give  her  back  her  promise.  No  other  man  could 
have  won  this  woman  from  her  virtue.  Always  he  met 
the  moods  half-way.  If  she  did  not  care  for  him  "  in 
every  way,"  if  she  was  not  as  sure,  as  he  was,  that  life 
meant  nothing  for  either  of  them  apart,  then  she  was 
right.  He  would  not  take  her  in  a  mood ;  she  must  come 
to  him  because  she  wanted  him  as  he  wanted  her.  He 
was  an  artist  in  his  role. 

"  If  you  don't  care  for  me  to  touch  you,  then  you  don't 
care  for  me.  If,  when  you  kiss  me  to-day,  you  repent  it 
to-morrow,  then  you  don't  love  me." 

Once  she  doubted  herself.  Once,  when  there  had  been 
a  wild  scene  between  them,  and  a  wilder  reaction,  and 
she  was  all  unstrung  and  trembling,  she  flung  herself  on 
her  knees  beside  him,  where  he  sat  on  the  sofa — his  head 
on  the  cushions,  averted  from  the  woman  who  had  er- 
proached  him — and  asked  him,  with  tears,  with  agony  in 
her  voice : 

"Louis,  you  know  me;  Louis,  is  it  true?  I  want  to 
give  myself  to  you ;  I  want  to  do  everything  you  would 
have  me  do — but,  I  can't — I  can't — Louis,  don't  I  love 
you?  Is  that  it?" 

With  all  his  good  looks  and  all  his  culture,  Louis  Alt- 
haus  was  the  descendant  of  that  wheedling,  ringleted  son 
of  a  weak  race  that  is  no  longer  a  nation.  Easy  tears  came 
to  his  eyes,  and  these  she  could  not  look  at. 

"  I  dare  not  think.  I  am  afraid — Ah !  Louis,  help 
me!" 

"I  will,  I  will;"  his  arms  were  around  her  again,  his 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  143 

dear  breath  about  her.  "  You  do  love  me — I  know  you 
love  me.  It  isn't  that.  I  have  not  given  you  time  enough ; 
we  must  wait.  Don't  think  you  fail  in  love  for  me, — but 
you  are  a  good  woman,  and  so  innocent,  and  it  is  hard; 
but  oh !  Joan" — and  the  rest  was  only  breathed. 

Always  in  her  dreams  and  in  her  waking  hours,  until 
the  day  she  died,  with  it  still  murmuring  to  her  dulling 
ear,  she  heard  the  soft  burr  of  the  "  r"  as  he  whispered 
"  in  every  way." 

Then  came  the  voyage.  For  the  trick  Fate  played 
Joan  was  to  send  her  an  invitation  from  the  newspaper 
with  which  she  had  been  corresponding,  to  come  to  Eng- 
land for  the  arrangement  of  her  permanent  appointment 
as  South  African  correspondent, — and  this  at  the  very 
time  that  Louis  must  leave  for  England.  Then,  if  Louis 
had  even  had  an  eleventh  hour  repentance,  if  he  had  fal- 
tered in  his  purpose,  or  realised  the  nature  of  the  woman 
whose  life  he  was  taking  into  his  keeping,  there  came  to 
him  Karl's  last  instructions,  and,  according  to  his  own 
superstitious  reading,  took  the  matter  out  of  his  hands. 

"  This  ought  to  reach  you  the  day  before  you  start," 
Karl  wrote.  "  Good-bye,  old  chap,  and  God  bless  you ! 
I  know  you'll  do  the  best  for  us,  but  Heaven  knows  if 
you'll  be  in  time.  I  am  losing  touch  with  the  fellows 
here;  there  is  the  lot  that  want  to  fight,  whatever  the 
cost,  and  these  there  is  no  holding.  They  are  importing 
arms,  and  talking  wildly,  so  that  the  old  man  can  get  to 
hear  everything  that  is  going  on.  And  Rhodes  is  sick. 
!t  am  overwhelmed  with  anxiety.  All  our  interests  are 
involved,  and  all  our  interests  seem  threatened.  Have 
you  seen  Joan  de  Groot?  Don't  lose  sight  of  her.  I 
haven't  managed  to  get  hold  of  Piet.  But  it's  no  conse- 
quence; he's  on  his  last  legs.  Well  make  her  fortune 
for  her  whether  she  likes  it  or  not,  if  only  these  beggars 
will  make  up  their  minds  what  they  want  to  do,  and  let 
me  get  to  work.  And  we'll  see  what  she  says  when  she 
finds  herself  a  rich  woman.  England  ought  to  know 
what  we  have  got  to  put  up  with  just  now.  If  it's  a  ques- 


144  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

tion  of  fighting,  and  it's  bound  to  come  to  that,  we  must 
be  supported  from  headquarters.  Get  home  as  quick  as 
you  can,  there's  a  good  chap,  and  wake  them  up  at  the 
Colonial  Office.  A  blasted  Boer  policeman  shot  a  man  at 
Pretoria  yesterday  for  protecting  one  of  his  boys  from 
being  sjamboked  to  death.  We'll  make  a  test  case  of  it. 
But  look  out  for  squalls." 

Karl's  instructions  were  definite,  "  Don't  lose  sight  of 
Joan  de  Groot,"  he  had  written,  and  Louis  told  himself 
that  he  had  never  disregarded  definite  instructions  from 
Karl.  He  took  his  passage  on  the  Arizona,  and  he  wrote 
Joan  a  line. 

"  I  won't  see  you  again  until  you  have  made  up  your 
mind,  at  least,  as  to  whether  you  are  going  to  England. 
I  won't  say  a  word  about  how  I  feel.  It  is  sixteen  hours 
since  I  have  seen  you,  but  I  answered  your  question  quite 
truly.  You  do  care  for  me.  How  much  or  how  little,  I 
sometimes  know,  but  I  sometimes  doubt.  Words  say 
very  little  to  me,  and  as  yet  you  have  only  given  me 
words.  Will  you  '  lay  your  sweet  hands  in  mine  and  trust 
me'?  If  I  go  alone,  our  lives  are  parted  for  ever;  it  is 
not  in  my  nature  to  go  on  caring  for  a  woman  who  can't 
love  me  as  I  want  her  to.  And  at  the  end  of  your  life 
you'll  know  you  have  missed  everything  that  makes  life 
worth  living.  If  you  let  me  take  your  passage  too,  on 
the  Arizona,  I  shall  bind  you  to  nothing,  everything  shall 
be  as  you  wish ;  you  know  I  only  want  you  to  be  happy, 
and  I  want  to  see  you  every  day.  But  I  shall  never  ask 
more  than  you  want  to  give  me,  or  sooner  than  you  want 
to  give  it  me,  so  only  that  I  know  your  love  meets  mine. 

"  Answer  this  by  bearer.  Am  I  to  take  your  passage, 
yes  or  no.  If  you  say  '  yes,'  I  am  for  ever,  more  than  ever, 
and  in  every  way — Your  Louis." 

There  came  no  answer,  and  Louis,  hurrying  on  his 
preparations,  in  a  fever  of  watching  and  anxiety,  saw  the 
hours  slip  reluctantly  past.  He  would  not  go  to  her.  His 
vanity,  or  his  knowledge  of  women,  told  him  not  to ;  and 
he  left  her  to  fight  her  fight  alone,  now  that  he  thought  he 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  145 

had  made  her  victory  impossible.  He  was  not  sure,  not 
absolutely  sure.  Of  every  other  woman  he  had  been 
sure.  To  such  a  man  as  Louis  Althaus  nothing  had  been 
easier  than  the  wooing  and  winning  of  light  women. 

But  Joan  was  not  light.  He  realised  she  would  give 
herself  to  him,  if,  indeed,  that  giving  became  inevitable, 
because  her  mind  was  conquered  no  less  than  her  eyes, 
because  she  saw  that  in  a  woman's  life  there  could  be  but 
one  man,  and  Louis  Althaus  was  surely  the  one  man  that 
could  be  her  lord  and  lover.  If  she  saw  this,  he  knew  she 
would  not  stay  for  convention,  for  the  atmosphere  of 
Cape  Town  was  not  conducive  to  conventional  thinking. 

Still  the  answer  to  his  letter  tarried,  and  Louis  suf- 
fered his  suspense  as  small  natures  suffer  great  things. 
Sometimes  he  saw  her  all  fire  and  ice,  full  of  sweet  sur- 
prises, with  the  most  delicate  appeal,  with  the  most  elusive 
charm  of  reluctance.  Sometimes  he  saw  her  as  a  mere 
journalist,  with  ink  in  her  veins,  a  phrase-maker  only, 
and  he  considered  how  he  could  punish  her  because  she 
had  made  him  feel.  At  these  times  he  would  remember 
Piet's  farm,  and  would  frame  letters  to  Karl,  ascribing 
to  her  the  faults  she  had  not  committed,  suggesting  there 
should  be  let  loose  against  her  all  the  agents  whose  un- 
scrupulousness  would  make  their  success  certain.  Then 
again  he  remembered  that  he  loved  her ;  his  vanity  no  less 
than  his  desire  was  all  expectant  and  sensitive.  He  was 
cold  and  shocked  in  his  desire  and  his  vanity  when  he 
thought  it  possible  he  might  set  sail  without  her. 

And  Joan?  Joan  knew,  from  the  moment  she  got  his 
letter,  that  she  must  go — must,  must,  must.  His  hold 
on  her  was  complete.  For  three  weeks  there  had  been 
nothing  but  Louis  in  the  world.  She  could  not  live  in  a 
grey  world  of  shadows,  looking  out  at  phantoms  through 
dreary  eyes,  holding  a  nerveless  pen  in  a  cold  unguiding 
hand.  The  world  was  Louis  Althaus  ;  this  was  the  book 
she  would  write  and  the  life  she  would  lead,  for  he  epito- 
mised for  her  the  people  to  whom  he  only  half  belonged, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  now,  looking  back  on  the  episode 

JO 


14-6  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

with  Karl,  that  his  people  were  her  people.  Her  emo- 
tionalism, which  had  hitherto  found  expression  only  on 
paper,  her  imagination,  which  had  roamed  loosely  in 
vague  phrases,  her  defective  education,  which  had  given 
her  the  poets,  and  hidden  from  her  the  philosophers,  all 
helped  to  her  undoing.  She  made  an  honest  effort  in 
those  two  days  whilst  Louis  waited,  she  endeavoured  to 
interest  herself  still  in  her  brother,  his  visitors,  politics,  the 
party,  but  these  were  all  shadows.  She  tried  to  write,  sat 
for  hours  with  a  pen  that  made  no  move  over  the  paper, 
dipped  it  again  and  again  in  the  ink  that  dried  on  its 
point  unused,  whilst  the  brain  held  no  guidance  for  it. 
She  could  think  of  nothing  but  Louis,  and  of  him,  in  truth, 
it  cannot  be  said  that  she  even  thought.  She  felt  him 
and  his  demands,  him,  and  what  he  had  taught  her,  his 
words  and  looks,  in  every  weakened  fibre  that  he  had  left 
unstrung. 

And  strangely,  unfortunately,  sentences  she  could  not 
compose,  could  never  have  composed,  haunted  her,  and 
influenced  her. 

"  I  will  speak  thy  speech,  love,  think  thy  thought, 
Meet,  if  thou  requirest  it,  all  demands, 
Laying  strength  and  spirit  in  thy  hands." 

To  this  little  woman,  so  infinitely  ignorant,  so  gifted, 
and  so  untrained,  came  the  poets,  tempting  her  with  voices 
that  followed  her  singing  into  dreamland.  Why  should 
she  doubt? 

"  Where  the  apple  reddens,  never  pry 
Lest  we  lose  our  Edens,  you  and  I." 

Why  should  she  hold  back? 

"  Take  in  season, 
Thought  with  reason, 
Think  what  gifts  are  ours  for  giving." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  147 

Why  should  she  alone  not  know  the 

"  Beauty  and  music  of  an  altered  world"  ? 

Why  should  she  remain  ignorant  of  the  bliss  he  prom- 
ised? 

"  Ah !   shouldst  thou  live  but  once  love's  sweets  to  prove, 
Thou  wilt  not  love  to  live  unless  thou  live  to  love." 

Was  it  not  true  that 

"  She  that  shuts  love  out,  in  turn  shall  be 
Shut  out  from  Love,  and  on  her  threshold  lie 
Howling  in  outer  darkness"? 

"  In  outer  darkness."  Could  there  be  a  more  apt  de- 
scription ?  What  had  there  been  in  her  life  before  she  met 
the  Althouses?  A  few  dreams,  and  a  book  she  had 
already  half-forgotten,  a  brother,  to  whom  at  first  she 
had  been  a  burden,  a  brother,  whose  life  was  full  with- 
out her,  a  few  acquaintances,  a  possible  fame,  nothing, 
emptiness,  shadows.  Her  mind  had  no  fight  in  it ;  reason 
as  well  as  instinct  was  on  Louis's  side.  She  loved  him, 
and  he  wanted  her.  Her  heart  had  no  fight  in  it.  It  was 
in  truth  an  empty  heart,  with  little  memory  of  mother  in 
it,  or  of  loving  sisters,  no  nestling  child's  head,  nothing. 
There  were  only  her  woman's  instinct  and  her  woman's 
modesty  to  save  her ;  and  Louis  had  had  such  wonderful 
self-restraint,  he  had  shocked  neither.  Now  he  stayed 
away. 

No  woman  feels  pity  for  another  woman  who  has  such 
a  decision  to  make,  and  makes  it  wrongly.  But  Christ 
had  pity  for  the  Magdalen,  and  His  "  neither  do  I  con- 
demn thee"  seemed  but  as  another  poet's  singing  voice, 
mocking  her  gently  for  holding  back. 

Once  the  decision  was  taken,  however,  once  the  voyage 
had  begun,  she  put  doubt  and  unhappiness  out  of  her 
mind,  and  gave  herself,  as  such  women  as  this  do  give 


118  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

themselves,  with  no  restraint,  no  conscious  thought,  save 
how  to  meet  his  every  wish. 

She  had  never  answered  Louis's  letter;  she  could  not 
frame  the  words  with  which  to  answer  it.  She  came  on 
board  at  the  last  possible  moment.  Louis's  doubts  made 
his  certainty  tumultuous.  Yet  he  must  have  credit  for  his 
virtues ;  his  tact,  his  self-possession,  were  perfect  when 
he  saw  her.  His  greeting  was  that  of  a  friend  only,  his 
lips  had  surface  words,  but  his  eyes  spoke  and  thanked 
her,  and  his  magnetic  hands,  as  they  grasped  hers, 
brought  the  easy  flush  into  her  cheek ;  but  all  he  said  was 
to  inquire  about  her  luggage. 

John  Fiennes  came  to  see  her  off,  and  many  friends ; 
not  Van  Biene,  unfortunately.  Van  Biene  might,  even  at 
the  eleventh  hour,  have  uttered  some  word  that  would 
have  drowned  the  echoes  to  which  she  had  been  listening, 
but  Van  Biene  was  in  Kimberley,  and  there  was  no  warn- 
ing word.  John  Fiennes  was  glad  Joan  would  have  com- 
pany. Quite  lightly  he  commended  her  to  Louis's  care, 
no  less  than  to  the  captain's.  Quite  gravely  Louis  prom- 
ised his  services. 

It  was  a  dream  voyage,  with  nothing  in  it  but  love  and 
the  immortals.  All  the  surface  emotionalism  of  Louis, 
exquisitely  presented  in  wonderful  poets'  voices,  seemed 
to  broaden  and  grow  deep.  She  read  to  him,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  read  of  him.  She  threw  into  this  simu- 
lacrum of  a  man,  this  hollow  hero,  all  the  passion  that 
Browning  voiced,  and  all  the  sentiment  that  Tennyson 
sang.  There  was  always  the  personal  undercurrent,  the 
application  of  lines,  there  were  always  eyes  and  hands 
meeting  before  wonderful  sunsets,  or  on  moonlit  evenings, 
amid  stormy  seas  or  in  the  sunny  calm  of  foam-flecked 
waves. 

Joan  passed  into  that  empty  vessel  by  her  side  all  the 
romance  that  had  made  her  novel  a  success,  all  the  senti- 
ment that  was  as  fresh  as  if  she  had  been  seventeen  in- 
stead of  eight-and-twenty,  all  the  emotions  that  had  hith- 
erto had  no  outlet  but  her  pen.  And  the  empty  vessel, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  149 

transparent  as  glass,  beautiful  of  shape,  and  delicate  and 
rare  of  make,  took  all  she  threw  into  it  and  reflected  ex- 
quisite colour.  Louis  had  made  love  to  many  women, 
and  many  women  had  made  love  to  him,  but  never  one  of 
so  large  a  heart,  so  wide  an  intelligence,  so  strong  a  per- 
sonality. If  he  had  known  her  superiority  she  might  have 
bored,  oppressed  him;  if  she  had  known  it,  she  might 
have  given  him  all  this,  but  fed  his  vanity,  his  self-love, 
his  sensuousness,  with  something  of  contemptuousness, 
•with  something  of  condescension.  But  she  knew  noth- 
ing except  that  he  made  infinite  things  seem  clear  to  her, 
brought  her  close  to  God  and  to  the  poets,  illuminated 
dark  passages,  and  made  them  full  of  glowing  meaning. 
Such  women  deny  nothing  to  the  man  they  love.  Such 
men  as  Louis  Althaus  intently  demand  everything. 

The  quick  voyage  came  to  an  end,  but  between  those 
two  that  had  occurred  which  made  the  voyage's  end  seem 
but  as  a  step  forward  on  the  journey  they  would  make 
together,  a  journey  that  was  to  lead  through  Elysium 
right  up  to  the  gates  of  heaven.  That  is  what  Joan  felt, 
and,  when  Louis  was  with  her,  taking  prismatic  colours 
from  her  brave  spirit  and  surrender,  that  is  what  Louis 
said  he  too  was  confident  about. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 


THE  dream  voyage  had  come  to  an  end ;  and  life  had 
begun ;  life  that  was  to  lead  along  flower-gemmed  paths, 
bedecked  with  shining  dew,  through  green  avenues  of 
trees  with  sunlit  tops,  and  sweet  winds  swaying  in  the 
branches.  The  path  along  which  they  should  wander 
hand  in  hand  right  up  to  the  golden  gates  of  heaven 
stretched  itself  brightly  before  them. 

And  they  walked  on  it  a  little  way. 

For  a  wonderful  six  weeks  Joan  and  Louis  roamed  the 
Continent,  spending  Christmas  in  Dresden  and  New  Year 
in  Paris;  in  February  they  were  at  Nice,  and  they  only 
reached  London,  where  they  ought  to  have  been  in  De- 
cember, when  St.  Valentine's  day  had  come  and  gone. 
To  Karl  and  to  people  who  expected  him  Louis  had 
written  of  illness ;  intrigue  had  a  charm  for  him,  even  if 
it  were  only  for  intrigue's  sake.  But  now  the  necessities 
of  the  case  quickened  his  invention,  and  the  fever  of 
which  he  had  written  became  quite  realistic  in  his  letters. 

Louis  took  a  cottage  about  half-an-hour's  journey  from 
London,  near  Bushey.  A  desolate  little  cottage  it  looked 
in  February,  but  in  summer  it  would  welcome  creeper 
and  woodbine.  It  was  squeezed  into  the  corner  of  a  vil- 
lage, within  sight  of  a  common,  within  sound  of  the 
church  bells.  And  there  again  "  love  sang  to  them,  played 
with  them,  folded  them  close  from  the  day  and  the  night." 
As  he  had  promised  her,  he  proved  the  most  exacting  of 
lovers — for  more  than  a  week.  She  must  not  write,  she 
must  not  even  read  save  aloud  to  him.  He  quoted  back 
to  her  that  she  must  think  his  thoughts,  and  in  lightness 
she  mocked  his  "  r's"  and  "  spoke  his  speech."  En- 
wrapped, enfolded,  enveloped,  she  was  ready  to  lie  warm 
150 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  151 

and  quiescent  in  the  very  core  of  his  heart,  giving  herself 
to  him  in  a  surrender  that  made  her  glad  of  every  little 
charm  he  discovered. 

But  soon,  very  soon,  he  ceased  to  tell  her  of  this  little 
charm  or  that,  for  the  man  was  mean  in  the  very  soul  of 
him,  and  thought  "  I  must  not  let  her  know  how  beautiful 
she  is."  And  she  missed  the  telling,  for  she  was  a  novice 
in  the  game  he  knew  so  well,  and  wistfully  she  would 
ask,  "  Do  I  satisfy  you ;  am  I  all  I  ought  to  be  ?  I  am 
so  ignorant.  Help  me,  Louis,  darling;  teach  me,  make 
me  what  you  want  me  to  be."  For  answer  he  took  all 
the  sweets  of  her  nature,  keeping  her  always  a  little  hun- 
gry for  his  caresses,  calculating  with  her,  as  he  found  her 
generous  arms  heaped  up  with  fruits  for  his  more,  easily 
assuaged  appetite. 

But  even  this  could  not  help  him.  She  was  so  lavish  in 
the  giving,  such  an  amateur  in  love,  that  the  word  satiety 
was  thundering  in  his  ear  before  he  had  time  to  recognise 
its  whisper  in  the  distance.  Before  three  weeks  had 
passed  he  had  grown  restless  in  the  cottage,  in  the  village, 
critical  of  the  accommodation,  of  the  commonplace  par- 
lour, of  the  daily  menu,  of  the  very  air.  In  truth,  his  time 
for  poetry  was  over;  London  lured  him,  and  Poole's 
called  to  him,  Bond  Street  was  in  his  blood;  his  patent 
leather-shod  feet  wanted  the  pavement,  his  sleek  hand- 
some head  was  made  for  a  high  hat.  And  he  had  a  hun- 
dred glib  excuses.  There  was  business;  Messrs.  Old- 
berger  and  Althaus  claimed  him,  and  he  had  his  mission 
for  Karl  to  fulfil.  She  knew  something  of  that  mission — 
she  had,  in  fact,  inspired  it — and  she  was  eager  to  help ; 
but  brain  and  pen  were  captive. 

He  held  her  by  indissoluble  bonds  through  the  magic 
of  the  flesh,  the  chain  that  eats  into  a  woman's  heart  and 
holds  a  man's  conscience  lightly  in  its  weakest  link.  The 
chain  was  gold  as  yet,  brilliant  and  uncorroded,  set  with 
rare  jewels ;  it  hung  about  her  grandly,  and  the  glamour 
of  it  was  in  her  eyes.  She  never  questioned  when  he 
found  the  cottage  unhealthy,  and  the  common,  which  held 


152  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

a  thousand  charms  for  her,  cheerless  and  damp.  She  was 
not  unhappy  in  solitude ;  she  was  as  one  intoxicated  with 
mandragora. 

But  the  opium  dream  in  its  highest,  its  first  supreme 
perfection,  lasted  so  short  a  time. 

Louis  had  indeed  business  in  town,  business  apart  from 
Poole's  and  Scott's  and  Tremlett's,  and  the  other  sartorial 
artists  whom  he  regarded  as  of  paramount  importance. 
He  had  Karl's  instructions  to  fulfil,  and  he  called  on 
Stephen  Hayward ;  but  Stephen  was  still  in  Scotland,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  await  his  return,  noth- 
ing political,  that  is  to  say.  To  Louis,  at  least,  that  matter 
did  not  seem  urgent.  What  appeared  really  urgent,  how- 
ever, were  the  affairs  of  the  "  Geldenrief,"  for  Joan  no 
longer  quite  eclipsed  her  farm  in  his  view,  and  both  now 
assumed  clearly  their  relative  degrees  of  importance. 

It  is  necessary,  in  order  not  to  misunderstand  Louis's 
intelligent  survey  of  the  position,  to  give  a  rough  outline 
of  the  way  in  which  the  "  Geldenrief,"  like  many  similar 
enterprises,  was  launched  on  its  Stock  Exchange  career. 

Karl  Althaus,  during  one  of  his  earliest  expeditions  to 
Johannesburg,  had  acquired  the  option  of  a  piece  of  land 
belonging  to  Piet  de  Groot,  and  had  had  it  thoroughly 
prospected.  There  seemed  little  doubt  that  it  was  gold- 
bearing,  and  Karl  exercised  his  option,  and  became  the 
owner  of  what  was  substantially  the  "  Geldenrief."  But 
money  was  required  to  develop  it,  and  money  is  a  thing 
that  millionaires  make  a  rule  of  never  finding  themselves 
for  experimental  purposes.  He  sent  title,  particulars,  de- 
tails, to  his  firm  in  London.  The  price  of  the  mine  was 
nominally  fixed  at  five  hundred  thousand  pounds,  and  a 
syndicate  was  formed  to  work  it.  This  syndicate  became 
the  possessor  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pound 
shares  which  were  pooled,  and  an  undertaking  was  given 
that  they  should  not  be  placed  upon  the  market  for  a  given 
period.  The  other  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pound 
shares  were  in  the  hands  of  Messrs.  Oldberger  and  Alt- 
haus, who  doled  them  out  through  the  medium  of  brokers 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  153 

at  prices  varying  from  ten  shillings  upwards.  Messrs. 
Oldberger  and  Althaus  had  launched  the  Ge  Suit  mine 
in  a  similar  manner ;  it  had  paid  big  dividends,  returned 
bonuses  to  the  shareholders,  and  the  shares  stood  at  thir- 
teen. They  had  also  exploited  the  Kopjefontein  with  ten- 
pound  shares  which  were  now  about  twenty-five.  Dozens 
of  other  more  or  less  successful  enterprises  testified  to 
their  acumen  and  their  judgment.  There  was  conse- 
quently no  difficulty  in  placing  the  "  Geldenrief."  Options 
in  large  lines  were  given  to  jobbers  at  various  prices. 
Dealings  commenced  in  the  shares  at  ten  to  fifteen  shil- 
lings premium  and  rapidly  rose  to  two  and  a  quarter. 
Then  bears  were  trapped  and  allowed  to  depress  prices. 
Messrs.  Oldberger  and  Althaus  put  in  their  own  clients 
as  buyers,  and,  in  the  usual  way,  a  market  was  made  and 
the  snares  freely  dealt  in. 

Karl  had  left  that  part  of  the  business  to  the  London 
branch,  but,  as  soon  as  he  was  informed  that  affairs  were 
in  train,  he  had  started  work  at  the  mine.  He  ordered 
machinery,  he  engaged  a  manager,  he  sank  a  shaft.  Alto- 
gether he  spent  something  like  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  pounds.  But,  as  he  told  Louis,  the  mine  proved 
a  disappointment,  the  vein  was  thin,  the  gold  not  in  pay- 
able quantities,  and,  before  the  syndicate's  time-limit  had 
been  reached,  cable  communications  from  the  manager, 
who  was  an  honest  Scotchman,  made  the  shares  practi- 
cally unsaleable.  The  shares  from  two  and  an  eighth  fell 
t3  par  in  one  day,  and  before  two  settlements  had  passed 
they  were  at  a  discount;  and  then,  no  amount  of  para- 
graphs, contradicting  reports,  or  "  tips"  from  jobbers 
whose  books  were  uneven,  succeeded  in  galvanising  them 
into  life.  There  was  some  ill-feeling  manifested  over  the 
matter.  The  syndicate  thought  it  had  been  badly  treated, 
the  report  prematurely  published,  their  interests  not  con- 
sidered. There  was  no  doubt  that,  one  way  or  another, 
the  loss  which  the  firm  had  sustained  was  not  to  be  com- 
pared with  the  loss  that  had  been  iofiicted  on  the  syndi- 
cate. 


154  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

But  all  this  was  many  years  ago.  "  Geldenriefs"  had 
dropped  out  of  the  official  list;  they  were  quoted  occa- 
sionally at  2s.  or  at  45.,  or  some  such  nominal  price. 
Messrs.  Oldberger  and  Althaus  had  found  ways  of  com- 
pensating their  friends  and  clients,  and  the  syndicate,  all 
five  of  them  rich  men,  had  practically  forgotten  to  bewail 
their  loss. 

On  his  way  up  to  London  from  Bushey,  Louis  realised 
that  his  instructions  from  Karl  were  not  at  all  clear.  The 
Geldenrief,  instead  of  a  failure,  was  going  to  turn  out  a 
big  success.  The  machinery  was  there  and  the  shaft 
sunk.  That  the  reef  had  been  struck,  that  the  deep  of 
it,  the  rich  quartz,  lay  under  the  De  Groot  farm,  he  under- 
stood ;  but,  beyond  explaining  how  matters  stood,  beyond 
telling  him  not  to  lose  sight  of  Joan  de  Groot,  Karl  had 
given  him  no  definite  instructions.  Louis  loved  money 
at  least  as  much  as  Karl  did.  He  envied  Karl  his  extra 
millions ;  his  own  was  a  princely  income,  yet  Karl's  gen- 
erous arrangements  for  his  benefit  always  seemed  to  him 
to  fall  short  of  his  deserts  and  his  needs.  Karl  had  so 
much,  why  should  Karl  have  the  "  Geldenrief "  ?  After 
all,  the  farm  was  his,  or,  at  least,  it  was  Joan's,  which 
came  to  the  same  thing.  He  had  not  been  a  month  in  Eng- 
land, not  three  weeks  at  Bushey,  before  Joan's  farm  had 
eclipsed  Joan  in  his  thoughts,  and  the  Geldenrief  had 
become  more  vital,  more  prominent  with  him,  than  she. 

So  it  became  necessary  for  him  to  go  to  London.  And 
happily,  at  first,  she  listened  to  the  sparrows  twittering 
their  high  pathetic  notes  in  the  budding  trees  around  the 
Bushey  cottage,  and  spent  glad  days  in  dreaming  of  her 
lover. 

After  his  formal  call  on  Stephen  Hayward,  Louis  had 
gone  direct  to  Throgmorton  Street.  They  hardly  expected 
him;  Louis  was  Karl's  nominee,  they  understood  that  at 
the  office.  He  had  been  three  weeks  in  England,  but  this 
was  the  first  time  they  had  seen  him.  He  was  not  more 
popular  in  Throgmorton  Street  than  he  had  been  with 
Van  Biene.  The  clerks,  authorised  and  otherwise,  looked 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  155 

up  to  him,  copied  his  coats  and  waistcoats,  and  noticed  his 
boots  and  trousers;  but  Israel  Oldberger  and  Israel's 
brother  Sam  were  unimpressed. 

"  I  thought  we  should  have  seen  you  before,"  said  Sam, 
after  the  usual  greetings  had  passed. 

"  There's  nothing  to  do  in  town  before  April,"  was  the 
casual  answer. 

Yet  Louis  showed  an  inquisitiveness  and  curiosity  about 
the  business  of  the  firm  that  irritated  old  Israel.  Louis 
questioned,  doubted,  cross-examined,  talked  about  every- 
thing except  the  "  Geldenrief."  When  he  had  wasted  an 
hour  and  a  half  of  the  busiest  time  in  Throgmorton 
Street,  he  asked  Sam  to  go  out  to  lunch  with  him.  Israel 
signalled  Sam  to  go ;  he  had  had  about  as  much  of  Louis 
as  he  could  stomach,  and  why  shouldn't  Sam  have  a  cham- 
pagne lunch  at  Louis  Althaus's  expense?  Israel  was 
glad  to  get  rid  of  them  both,  for  he  was  not  a  talker  him- 
self, and  Louis's  voice  had  so  rasped  his  nerves  that  he 
couldn't  even  endure  his  brother.  And  Sam  was  safe 
enough.  Louis  had  asked  a  great  many  questions,  but 
Israel  Oldberger  was  pretty  sure  he  had  got  very  little 
information. 

Sam  Oldberger,  very  bald,  rather  stout,  full-visaged, 
hook-nosed,  and  red,  led  his  smart  partner  through  the 
shivering  crowd  of  brokers  and  bare-headed  jobbers,  with 
books  and  pencils,  hurrying  along  the  dull,  narrow  street. 
They  talked  in  pairs,  in  groups,  young  clerks  rushed 
about;  there  was  no  spring  in  the  Throgmorton  Street 
air,  it  was  dull  and  close,  it  smelt  of  finance.  Louis  looked 
about  him,  and  smiled  now  and  again  at  an  acquaintance, 
caressed  his  moustache,  and  was  possibly  a  little  surprised, 
in  the  "  Thieves'  Kitchen,"  to  find  himself  of  so  little 
moment.  But  every  one  was  intent  apparently  on  lunch, 
certainly  on  his  own  personal  affairs.  Louis  and  Sam,  at 
a  table  by  themselves,  were  able  to  converse  about  Cape 
Town  matters  quite  uninterruptedly.  They  did  so  for  a 
little  time,  until  Sam  was  well  through  his  share  of  the 
wine  Louis  had  ordered,  and  the  oysters  had  been  sue- 


156  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

ceeded  by  the  steak.  Then,  casually,  Louis,  who  had  been 
playing  up  for  it  for  two  hours,  asked : 

"  Do  you  remember  the  '  Geldenrief  mine  that  we 
worked  ?  We  syndicated  half  the  shares.  Do  you  by  any 
chance  remember  who  they  were?  I  was  talking  it  over 
with  Karl  the  other  day;  we  had  quite  a  little  dispute 
about  it." 

"  Remember  ?  Of  course  I  do ;  good  cause  to.  They 
made  fuss  enough  about  it,  Heaven  knows ;  as  if  one 
is  bound  to  win  every  time.  Fancy  your  brother  forget- 
ting!" 

"  I  did  not  say  Karl  forgot ;  I  say  we  disputed  about 
them,"  interposed  Louis  hastily.  "  Just  run  through  the 
names,  will  you,  and  I'll  check  them." 

Louis  took  out  his  notebook,  a  very  elegant  thing  of 
gun-metal,  with  "  Louis"  inscribed  in  diamonds,  and  en- 
veloped in  a  diamond  device  like  an  india-rubber  band 
twice  twisted. 

Sam  told  off  the  names,  and  Louis  wrote  them  down. 

"  Phillips  and  Jorrocks,  Althaus  Abrahams,  Aronson 
and  Ascher,  Lisson  Barker,  Charlie  Bloby." 

"  Quite  right."  The  pocket-book  closed  with  a  spring, 
the  pencil  with  its  diamond  top  replaced.  "  Pretty  pocket- 
book,  isn't  it?  Mrs.  Rex  gave  it  me — Prossie  Rex,  as 
we  used  to  call  her."  Louis  laughed  as  he  recalled  the 
title  he  had  bestowed  on  the  unfortunate  woman  who  had 
had  a  preference  for  him,  whom  one  of  her  protectors  had 
married  when  he  had  attained  fortune,  and  whom  she  had 
decorated  as  his  generosity  had  not  deserved.  "  She  is 
quite  in  Society  now,  isn't  she?  I  saw  her  described  in 
M.A.P.  as  '  one  of  our  South  African  hostesses.'  " 

Louis  laughed,  and  Sam  thought — well,  Sam  had  drunk 
nearly  a  bottle  of  champagne,  for  Louis  was  always  ab- 
stemious— so  he  did  not  formulate  his  thoughts;  but  he 
was  vaguely  sorry  for  Mrs.  Rex,  whose  history,  however, 
was  not  unfamiliar  to  him. 

"  Were  we  landed  with  any  of  the  shares  ourselves  ? 
Did  we  keep  any?" 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  157 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  we  were  landed  with  them,  but  your 
brother  wrote  over  we  were  to  do  what  we  could  to  save 
the  situation.  He  did  not  look  upon  the  report  as  quite 
convincing — you  see,  it  was  before  the  true  value  of  the 
Witwatersrand  was  understood ;  that  put  everything  else 
in  the  background — and  he  said  he  was  ready  to  take  back 
a  few  shares.  I  bought  twenty  thousand  myself;  they 
averaged  me  seven-and-six." 

"  Quoted  at  two-and-ten  last  time  I  saw  them  men- 
tioned in  the  list,"  said  Louis. 

"  A  jobber  offered  me  a  line  the  other  day  at  three- 
and-nine." 

"  But  you  did  not  see  it?" 

"  No ;  once  bitten  twice  shy."  And  Sam  smiled  at  his 
own  shrewdness. 

"Who  was  the  jobber?" 

"  Oh,  big  people  in  their  way — Boyle  and  Harris." 

Louis  said  casually,  "  Karl's  rather  sick  about  the  whole 
thing.  There  is  not  a  red  cent  in  the  mine.  He  thinks 
it  will  go  against  him  in  this  new  bank  business." 

Messrs.  Oldberger  and  Althaus  had  in  contemplation 
to  open  a  bank  in  Johannesburg,  the  scheme  was  in 
the  paper  stage — five  millions  capital ;  it  was  only  await- 
ing the  signal  from  Karl. 

"  I  don't  see  why  it  should ;  it  was  straightforward 
business." 

"  He  talked  of  taking  anything  there  was  left  off  the 
market.  He's  a  bit  of  a  Don  Quixote,  you  know." 

"  Well,"  said  Sam,  "  he's  welcome  to  mine  if  he'll 
give  me  what  I  gave  for  them." 

"  Very  philanthropic  of  you.  You'll  sell  him  an  article 
worth  one-and-ninepence  perhaps,  for  seven-and-six  cer- 
tain?" 

Sam  had  been  on  the  Exchange  for  many  years.  His 
sly  little  eyes  grew  bright. 

"  If  you  mean  business,  if  you're  dealing,  make  me 
a  proposal." 

"  No ;   I  come  to  you." 


158  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  I'll  sell  my  lot  at  six-and-three." 

"  Well,  come.  I'll  admit  to  you  that  Karl  funks  the 
talk  there  will  be  about  the  Geldenrief  when  the  bank  is 
started.  And" — reflectively — "  I  think  he's  got  an  idea 
of  standing  for  Parliament.  Anyway,  he's  given  me  a 
kind  of  roving  commission  that  if  I  can  buy  the  mine 
back  for  him  at  something  like  a  hundred  or  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand,  he'll  put  the  loss  in  his  own  pocket." 

Of  course,  the  mischief  of  it  was  that  it  was  just  the 
kind  of  thing  one  might  expect  of  Karl  Althaus.  And 
Sam  Oldberger  had  lunched,  and  six  thousand  pounds 
were  worth  having ;  so,  in  the  end,  the  deal  was  done. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  follow  Louis  through  the  next 
few  days.  They  were  spent  in  and  out  of  offices,  in 
manoeuvring,  in  freely  using  Karl's  name.  The  trans- 
action between  Sam  Oldberger  and  Louis  Althaus  was 
hardly  complete  before  the  jobber  who  had  offered  a 
line  of  ten  thousand  at  three-and-ninepence  was  ap- 
proached, and,  after  very  clever  handling,  was  induced 
to  part  with  his  parcel  at  four-and-six.  Louis  had  to 
instruct  a  broker,  and  naturally  the  broker  was  not  to  let 
it  be  known  for  whom  he  was  dealing.  Simultaneously 
the  syndicate  was  interviewed,  and  the  syndicate  very 
readily  cleared  out  the  rubbish  at  prices  averaging  eight 
shillings  a  share;  that  is  to  say,  four  of  the  syndicate 
yielded  to  the  representation  that  Karl  Althaus  wished 
to  reimburse  them  their  expense,  to  save  them  the  com- 
plete loss;  while  the  fifth,  Althaus  Abrahams,  winked  at 
Louis,  and  told  him  he'd  take  fifty  thousand  pounds  for 
his  shares,  not  a  penny  less.  He  wasn't  going  to  salve 
Karl  Althaus's  conscience  at  a  shilling  under  that  price. 
But  then,  before  Louis  had  got  to  Althaus  Abrahams,  the 
market,  cautiously  as  it  had  been  worked,  had  realised 
that  there  was  a  spurt  in  Geldenriefs,  and  the  shares, 
from  being  unsaleable  at  three-and-ninepence,  were  fifteen 
shillings,  strong  buyers. 

Louis  was  in  able  hands.  Messrs.  Oldberger  and  Alt- 
haus turned  sellers  of  Geldenriefs.  One  whole  afternoon 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  159 

a  jobber,  who  was  their  recognised  nominee,  announced 
this  to  all  whom  it  might  concern.  He  undertook  the 
operation  of  "  banging"  the  market.  But  Louis  and  his 
supporters  were  not  the  only  long  heads  on  the  London 
Stock  Exchange.  His  tactics  answered  less  well  than 
they  deserved.  He  sold  about  five  thousand  shares  at 
prices  varying  from  ten  to  fifteen  shillings,  but,  buying 
back  twenty  thousand,  on  balance,  proved  an  expensive 
game.  He  settled  with  Althaus  Abrahams  at  his  own 
price,  but  he  failed  to  secure  more  than  one  hundred  and 
twelve  thousand  of  the  floating  shares.  The  last  line  was 
bought  at  over  a  pound.  Altogether  he  had  to  part  with 
close  on  two  hundred  thousand  pounds,  a  mere  flea-bite 
to  a  Karl  Althaus,  but  a  serious  sum  to  the  millionaire's 
dependent,  representing  practically  his  liquid  capital. 
They  were  four  eventful,  exciting  days  that  Louis  had 
passed,  and  he  returned  to  Bushey  exhausted  with  his 
labours. 

"  It's  a  beastly  journey  down  here,"  he  grumbled  to 
Joan,  who  was  awaiting  him  with  glowing  eyes  and  tender 
expectation.  She  knew  he  was  engaged  in  business ;  she 
could  not  know  or  guess  the  nature  of  it.  "  Arms  and 
ammunition"  filled  the  small  spaces  in  her  mind  that 
passion  left  free. 

"But  worth  it  when  you  get  here,  dearest?"  she  an- 
swered, helping  him  off  with  his  coat,  relieving  him  of  his 
stick,  hanging  about  him  with  a  thousand  little  womanly 
offices  and  endearments.  He  said  nothing  to  the  con- 
trary, but  he  was  unusually  silent  that  evening,  and  dis- 
tracted. 

Louis  was  such  an  infinitely  smaller  man  than  Karl. 
It  seemed  to  him  now  that  he  had  put  all  his  eggs  into 
one  basket,  and  he  could  not  tear  his  thoughts  from  the 
prospects  of  the  Geldenrief.  Three  weeks  on  board  ship, 
six  of  continental  travel,  three  in  this  "  cursed  hole,"  he 
and  Joan  had  been  together.  And  now  it  was  April. 
How  the  time  flew !  Meanwhile,  what  of  Piet  de  Groot  ? 
What  guarantee  had  he  that  Karl  was  right  about  the 


160  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

mine?  And  the  farm — what  if  Piet  de  Groot  got  well? 
What  if  the  deep  level  of  the  Geldenrief  could  not  be 
bought  ? 

"  You  have  had  a  busy  time  in  the  city,  dear,  an  anxious 
time?" 

The  little  dining-room  looked  cosy  to  Joan.  Outside, 
the  branches  that  tapped  on  the  window  were  laden  with 
buds.  Inside  the  table  was  spread,  the  white  cloth  held 
a  bowl  of  primroses,  in  addition  to  the  primitive  collection 
of  plated  spoons  and  dull  metal  knives.  Joan  saw  the 
primroses  only,  Louis  the  table  equipments.  No,  Joan 
saw  yet  more ;  the  primroses  were  in  a  basin  of  hawthorn 
blue,  a  lucky  imitation,  the  pure  white  paste  of  which, 
with  the  rich  blue,  satisfied  some  inward  sense.  And  the 
sun  set  luxuriously  that  day  in  April ;  a  red  glow  from  its 
sinking  struck  the  casement  window,  and  lit  all  things 
in  the  exquisite,  strange  twilight,  the  slow  English  twi- 
light that  she  loved. 

"  But  you  forget  all  cares  and  worries  when  you  come 
here."  She  was  standing  at  the  window  watching  the 
sunset,  and  talking  to  him ;  she  could  not  see  his  lowering 
face.  His  temper  was  new  to  her,  strange  as  the  man 
himself;  his  true  ego  had  been  hidden  from  her  by  his 
beautiful  shell. 

"  I  always  dreamt  of  a  home  like  this,  Louis,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  leave  off  dreaming," 
he  said  irritably.  "  The  place  is  infernally  inconvenient 
for  me.  And  what  time  do  we  dine?  You  said  seven, 
and  I  hurried  to  get  home.  It's  fifteen  minutes  past  now, 
and  not  a  sign  of  anything  to  eat  but  a  decayed  cruet- 
stand." 

"  I'm  sorry."  She  turned  quickly  then.  "  I  thought 
you  would  hate  to  dine  until  the  light  had  faded.  Dinner 
came  up,  but  I  sent  it  down.  I  told  them  not  to  come 
until  all  the  red  had  gone  out  of  the  sky."  She  could  not 
keep  her  own  eyes  from  the  window.  "  Louis,  come  over 
here;  I  am  sure  this  will  rest  you  more  than  a  vulgar 
steak." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  161 

"  Good  heavens !  you  haven't  ordered  steak  again  ? 
That's  three  times  this  week;  and  Sam  Oldberger  could 
think  of  nothing  else  for  lunch  yesterday." 

Still,  he  moved  over  to  her  side,  though  he  could  not 
share  her  humour.  Unfortunaely,  he  could  no  longer 
pretend  to.  Yet  she  was  important  to  him,  vital,  in  fact. 

She  took  his  hand,  mechanically  he  put  his  arm  around 
her  waist,  and  they  stood  together,  silent  for  a  moment. 
It  was  Joan  who  broke  the  silence;  she  shivered,  her 
hand  in  his  grew  cold. 

"  A  web  is  woven  across  the  sky ; 
From  out  waste  places  comes  a  cry, 
And  murmurs  from  the  dying  sun." 

"  Louis,  all  of  a  sudden  this  reminds  me  of  '  In  Memo- 
riam.'  Come  away ;  ring  for  dinner.  I  don't  like  it  any 
more.  As  you  say,  I  am  a  '  woman  of  moods ;'  I'm  tired 
of  the  sunset." 

The  dinner  was  bad,  hopelessly,  inexplicably  bad.  And 
the  woman  of  moods,  rapidly  infected  by  her  companion's 
silence,  was  cold. 

"  I  don't  know  why,"  she  said,  "  but  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
been  a  light,  and  had  been  blown  out ;  it's  a  most  curious 
feeling." 

"  Well,  that's  the  difference  between  us.  I  feel  as  if 
I  wanted  a  good  '  blow  out,'  something  to  eat.  Really, 
Joan,  can't  you  manage  to  feed  a  man  when  he  comes 
home  ?" 

She  laughed ;  her  dull  mood  was  after  all  a  superficial 
one.  "  I  don't  think  housekeeping  is  my  strong  point.  I 
never  can  think  of  anything  to  tell  her  to  get  except  what 
we  had  yesterday,  and,  as  she  always  suggests  steaks  or 
chops,  there  is  not  much  variety  from  what  we  had  yes- 
terday. You  don't  really  care,  do  you  ?"  she  added  coax- 
ingly,  then  got  up  from  the  table  and  went  round  to  him, 
put  her  face  against  his  cheek,  and  took  the  fork  from 
his  hand. 

ii 


162  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  pudding,  anyhow  ?"  She 
turned  it  over  on  the  plate. 

"  It's  only  burnt  where  it  isn't  raw,  and  it  makes  me 
sick  to  look  at  it."  He  got  up  abruptly,  displacing  her 
with  some  roughness.  "  This  can't  go  on,  Joan.  The 
place  is  beastly  inconvenient,  the  cooking  is  filthy,  and 
I've  a  thousand  things  to  do." 

Fear  at  her  heart  gripped  coldly.  "  Not  go  on  ?"  she 
echoed  questioningly,  as  she  fell  back  from  him. 

"  We  took  it  for  three  months,  didn't  we  ?  Another 
two  months  here  would  finish  me,  I  reckon.  The  woman 
can't  cook,  and  you  can't  housekeep.  I'll  tell  you  what 
we'll  do — -don't  look  so  scared."  He  drew  her  to  him 
again,  his  good-humour  returning  as  he  thought  he  saw 
a  way  to  secure  his  own  comfort.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
desert  you." 

She  sighed  as  she  nestled  in  his  arms  and  smiled  at 
him.  Fear  had  shaken  her  momentarily  as  if  it  had  been 
some  living  thing;  it  had  shaken  her  and  was  gone,  but 
she  was  weak  from  the  strange  experience.  She  did  not 
admit  this  to  herself ;  it  was  physical  only,  it  had  passed, 
and  now  she  nestled  in  her  Louis's  arms  and  smiled. 

"  No ;  but  seriously,  dear,  I  am  needed  in  London,  at 
the  office.  You  know,  when  Karl  is  at  the  Cape  there  is 
no  one  here  but  me — no  head,  you  understand."  If  Israel 
or  Sam  Oldberger  could  only  have  heard  him !  "  We  are 
full  of  new  business,  large  business  too,  and  I  ought  to 
be  on  the  spot.  Then,  there  is  the  row  over  there  that 
you  know  I  am  working  for  here;  which  reminds  me  I 
must  run  down  to  Birmingham  and  see  about  those  guns. 
Hayward  is  away,  but  there  is  a  fellow  at  the  Colonial 
Office  that  I  think  I  can  get  at.  Karl  is  making  an  ass 
of  himself  with  the  Opposition.  It  is  all  very  well  for 
Karl  to  say  that,  as  far  as  imperial  matters  are  concerned, 
the  Government  is  only  a  figure-head,  and  the  Haywards 
have  all  the  power,  but  when  your  figure-head  is  Colonial 
Secretary,  you  can't  ignore  the  power  he's  got." 

"  You  think  you  ought  to  be  in  London  ?" 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  163 

"  I  know  I  ought.  It  isn't  only  the  day-time  I  can  use ; 
there  is  more  work  done  in  London  in  the  evenings,  over 
a  little  dinner  at  the  Carlton,  or  a  grill  at  the  Club  after  a 
play,  than  in  many  a  city  office.  It's  that  I'm  missing; 
it's  all  that  that  you've  put  out  of  my  head."  He  stooped 
and  kissed  her  lightly. 

"  I  must  not  be  in  the  way,  I  must  not  stop  your 
career." 

"  No ;   I'm  dependent  on  Karl,  as  you  know." 

She  knew,  because  he  had  told  her.  She  knew  in- 
stinctively how  generous  Karl  would  be.  And  she  had 
wronged  that  big-hearted  protector  of  Louis's.  Always 
the  idea  was  dimly  with  her  that  she  had  wronged  him  in 
some  subtle  way,  in  so  nearly  caring  for  him,  in  not  im- 
mortalising him  and  his  people  as  she  had  meant  to  do, 
in  taking  Louis,  in  absorbing  his  love.  Always  she  had 
this  vague  remorse  about  Karl,  and  would  nestle  closer 
in  Louis's  arms  to  forget  it. 

"  You  must  act  in  Karl's  interests,  you  must  do  as  he 
would  have  you  do." 

"  H'm !  yes,"  said  Louis,  with  a  mental  reserve.  "  I 
ought  to  be  on  the  spot.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  of 
doing.  You  know  Karl's  old  rooms  in  Piccadilly  are  still 
furnished  and  ready.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  expects  me 
to  occupy  them  until  the  house  is  finished.  And  he  has 
an  excellent  man  there.  I  think  I  shall  go  up  for  a  bit." 

"Oh,  Louis!" 

"  Well !  what  is  the  '  Oh,  Louis'  about?" 

"  I  could  not — I  could  not — live  in  Karl's  rooms." 

Louis,  who  had  never  for  a  moment  intended  she 
should,  caressed  his  moustache  and  thought  things  over. 
Joan  was  a  fascinating  little  woman,  sweet  as  a  child, 
soft  and  small,  and,  of  course,  she  had  the  farm ;  he  did 
not  want  to  part  with  her.  In  many  ways  she  suited  him 
better  than  any  woman  he  had  ever  met ;  but  she  was  a 
wretched  housekeeper.  "  In  Memoriam"  is  all  very  well, 
but  a  man  wants  his  dinner.  She  could  never  make  a 
home  for  him,  not  the  sort  of  home  he  had  in  his  mind, 


164-  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

sensuously  luxurious  and  well  ordered.  He  drew  her 
closer  to  him  and  pondered. 

"  I  don't  know  what  there  was  between  you  and  Karl, 
between  you  and  old  Karl.  I've  never  quite  fathomed 
that.  But,  of  course,  if  you  feel  you  can't  come  with  me 
to  Piccadilly,  and  mind — I  don't  think  you  are  wrong — I 
understand  your  feelings." 

"  I  knew  you  would,"  she  murmured. 

"  Well,  the  fact  remains,  I've  practically  no  choice. 
Karl  expects  me  to  be  in  London  this  season,  and  he 
expects  me  to  occupy  his  old  rooms.  I've  no  excuse  for 
not  doing  so." 

Another  pause  fell  between  them ;  she  played  with  his 
watch-chain. 

"No,  dear!" 

"  No,  I've  no  choice.  But  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't 
stay  on  here  for  a  bit,  until  the  end  of  our  tenancy  for 
instance;  and,  meanwhile,  I  can  be  looking  about 
me,  finding  the  right  crib  for  us  both.  Karl  will  be 
coming  over  himself  in  the  autumn,  and  by  that  time 
we  must  have  settled  some  plan.  Yes!  I  think  that's 
best." 

He  was  caressing  her  now.  How  sweet,  how  intoxi- 
catingly  sweet,  were  Louis's  caresses,  so  gentle,  so  full 
of  expectancy.  Passionately  she  seized  his  hand  and 
kissed  it,  kissed  the  soft  palm.  And  he  laughed  at  her 
and  patted  her,  and  realised  every  impulse  of  the  innocent 
sensuousness  that  he  awakened  in  her. 

"  There  is  no  reason  you  should  not  come  up  to  me 
every  day.  You  could  lunch  with  me,  you  know.  It 
would  be  just  the  break  from  my  work  that  I  want.  Not 
at  Karl's  rooms;  I'll  arrange  something.  Tell  me;  you 
will  not  be  unhappy,  if  you  stay  here  and  come  up  and 
see  me  every  day?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  ever  be  unhappy!  You  love  me," 
she  answered  earnestly,  with  complete  conviction.  "  The 
last  three  months  have  made  me  feel  there  is  no  such  word 
in  the  dictionary  of  my  life  as  '  unhappy.'  I  love  you,  you 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  165 

love  me,  and  you  are  you.  How  can  there  be  unhappiness 
for  either  of  us  ?" 

She  kissed  him  softly. 

In  the  end  it  was  decided  so.  Louis  should  take  up  his 
abode  in  those  luxurious  rooms  in  Piccadilly.  Joan  should 
remain  in  Bushey,  visiting  him  daily,  or  almost  daily,  as 
he  could,  or  might,  arrange.  She  was  still  completely 
content.  Her  dream  life  and  her  real  life  were  so  inter- 
mingled that  she  already  saw  those  solitary  hours  filled 
with  him,  no  less  than  those  meeting  hours,  ever  full  of 
dear  delights. 


CHAPTEB,  NINE 


SOON  after  that  conversation  Louis  ceased  to  live  at 
Bushey,  ceased  even  to  go  there,  save  on  a  dull  Sunday, 
the  Easter  Bank  Holiday,  or  for  a  rare  flying  visit. 
Instead,  Joan  went  to  him  in  London.  Louis  was  a  man 
of  small  economies,  and  all  his  outer  refinements  left 
intact  that  which  lay  in  the  nature  of  him.  It  was  a 
strange  London  that  she  showed  to  Joan.  She  had  to 
meet  him,  at  obscure  restaurants,  at  unfrequented  eating- 
houses,  at  small  hotels,  where,  in  private  rooms,  stiff  with 
obtrusive  velvet  furniture,  horrible  with  long  pauses 
between  the  courses,  with  the  leering  waiter  knocking 
ostentatiously  before  he  entered,  the  glamour  of  love 
began  to  fall  before  her  blue  eyes,  and  the  reality  of  it 
to  lurk  hideously  in  the  background  of  her  drugged 
mind. 

Yet  always  she  loved  him,  though  sometimes  she 
writhed  under  his  exactions,  and  her  bruised  modesty  and 
wounded  womanhood  began  to  see  that  passion  was  ugly, 
even  if  Louis  were  beautiful.  But  he  was  beautiful — 
like  myrrh  unto  her.  From  every  meeting  she  went  away 
full  of  his  charms  and  sweetness,  full  of  his  lips  and 
himself,  happy  in  her  complete  abnegation  to  him,  in  her 
degradation.  She  learnt  to  cry  in  those  days,  when  she 
was  telling  herself  how  happy  she  was ;  she  cried  silently, 
long,  often.  But  she  was  gay  when  she  was  with  Louis, 
because  to  be  dull  with  him  would  mean  that  she  was 
not  happy  with  him;  not  to  be  happy  with  him  would 
mean  that  she  reproached  him,  and  Louis  could  not  bear 
reproaches.  In  her  eyes,  at  least,  he  must  be  perfect.  He 
gave  her  to  understand  this ;  and  she  followed  wherever 
he  led,  still  sleep-walking,  still  with  dream-closed  eyes, 
166 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  167 

her  love,  like  the  strength  of  Antaeus,  ever  growing  as  it 
touched  the  earth. 

It  was  not  only  underground  London,  however,  that 
Louis  showed  her,  not  only  in  obscure  eating-houses 
that  they  would  meet.  Some  happy  days,  before  Louis's 
world  had  come  to  town,  they  sat  on  the  painted  wooden 
chairs  in  St.  James's  Park  and  gazed  at  the  shining  water, 
watched  the  delicate  tracery  of  the  young  green  spring 
come  to  life  on  the  brown  branches,  felt  within  their  hearts 
the  budding  and  bursting  of  the  blossoms,  and  turned  to 
each  other  sympathetic  eyes.  If  there  had  been  depth 
enough  in  the  man's  nature  to  hold  the  woman,  or  gen- 
erosity enough  to  recognise  his  limitations  and  let  her  do 
the  holding,  their  history  might  have  been  written  differ- 
ently; for  she  touched  all  his  shallows,  and  he  never 
loved  another  woman  better,  or  as  well.  Almost  any 
man  must  have  loved  her,  in  her  surrenders,  in  her  sweet 
submissions,  for  all  that  she  was,  no  less  than  for  all 
that  she  gave. 

After  they  had  ceased  to  occupy  the  cottage  at  Bushey 
together,  Joan  had  suggested  the  resumption  of  her  lit- 
erary work.  She  suggested  it  perhaps  half-heartedly,  for 
her  brain  was  not  working  well  yet;  she  was  feeling 
acutely,  dreaming  irresponsibly,  thinking  not  at  all.  But 
it  seemed  to  her  she  had  many  vacant  hours ;  she  ought 
to  present  her  letters  of  introduction,  she  ought  to  visit 
her  publisher.  Louis  would  let  her  do  none  of  these 
things.  It  was  a  newspaper  excuse  that  had  led  her  on 
'board  the  Arizona;  but,  before  they  had  touched  at  Ma- 
deira, she  had  written,  under  Louis's  dictation,  a  letter 
declining  the  proffered  post.  Sometimes  now  she  would 
tell  him  wistfully  that  she  would  soon  forget  how  to 
write.  Always  he  would  reply,  "  A  good  thing,  too. 
You'll  get  wrinkles  round  your  eyes,  ink  on  your  fingers, 
and  what  the  deuce  for  ?  There  are  any  amount  of  books, 
and  who  wants  to  read  'em?  Wretched  little  hacks  in 
attics  do  the  newspaper  work,  and  women  that  nobody 
wants  write  books.  What  is  there  to  be  got  out  of  it? 


168  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

I  know  a  man  who  did  a  sporting  book.  It  took  him  two 
years,  and  they  gave  him  a  hundred  pounds.  He  told  me 
so  himself.  We  gave  him  more  than  that  in  a  fortnight 
for  writing  a  prospectus  for  us.  Why  on  earth  should 
you  write  ?"  These  are  the  things  he  said  to  her,  perhaps 
not  all  at  once,  but  a  sentence  or  two  each  time  she  ap- 
proached the  subject.  And  she  did  not  want  to  reason 
with  him.  What  woman  wants  to  reason  with  a  man  who 
has  taught  her  passion  in  the  first  months  of  her  learning  ? 
Not  little  Joan,  the  dreamer,  with  no  pen  in  her  hand, 
and  living  for  the  first  time. 

About  the  letters  of  introduction  Louis  was  equally 
autocratic.  It  was  necessary  Louis  should  go  into  society ; 
it  was  equally  necessary  apparently,  perhaps  even  more 
vital,  that  society  should  not  hear  of  the  existence  of  Joan. 
It  is  possible  he  enjoyed  their  stealthy  meetings,  and  rel- 
ished Joan's  reluctance,  his  power  over  her,  and  the  de- 
basing of  her  to  his  level.  But  the  debasement  never 
touched  her  spirit.  The  sequel  showed  that,  the  inevitable 
sequel. 

While  town  was  still  half  empty,  when  the  business  of 
the  Geldenrief  was  finally  concluded,  and  all  the  transfers 
were  safely  locked  up  at  Louis's  bankers,  Joan  was,  next 
to  his  clothes,  again  his  most  absorbing  pursuit.  He 
found  himself  once  more  in  love  with  her  as  soon  as 
they  no  longer  dwelt  under  one  roof.  Now  she  repre- 
sented the  farm  and  rare  moments ;  but  he  was  not  a 
man  to  love  generously.  He  invented  little  causes  for 
quarrels  and  questionings,  he  perplexed  her.  To  keep 
himself  amused,  interested,  occupied,  these  so-called 
lovers'  quarrels  were  necessary.  He  could  not  doubt,  or 
pretend  to  doubt,  her  love ;  so  he  seized  upon  her  habits 
for  pretexts.  And  the  woman  who  can  quote  "  In  Me- 
moriam"  to  a  hungry  stockbroker  is  not  one  with  whom 
it  is  impossible  to  quarrel.  Joan,  for  instance,  was  habit- 
ually unpunctual:  time  was  one  of  those  things  of  the 
importance  of  which  she  had  never  been  convinced.  She 
thought  it  was  sweet  of  Louis  to  care  if  she  was  late  for 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  169 

this  or  that  appointment,  but  it  did  not  seem  serious  to 
her,  and  when  he  talked  about  it,  she  listened  with  only 
half  her  ears.  The  other  half  heard  only  the  musical  low 
voice  of  the  man  she  loved;  what  he  said  escaped  her 
often. 

As  time  went  on,  however,  this  very  confidence,  this 
sweet,  unquestioning  trust,  commenced  to  irritate  him. 
But  it  was  not  until  he  was  in  London,  and  one  roof  no 
longer  covered  them,  that  he  determined  to  teach  her, 
as  he  expressed  it,  that  she  must  not  take  liberties  with 
him,  that  his  dignity  must  be  preserved,  and  her  lower 
place  recognised.  One  day  press  of  traffic  in  Oxford 
Street — a  fallen  cab-horse,  perhaps,  too,  a  delayed  start 
— made  Joan  twelve  minutes  late,  and  during  those  twelve 
minutes  Louis,  in  all  the  glory  of  immaculate  morning 
costume,  had  walked  up  and  down  the  little  passage  that 
led  from  Regent  Street  to  Mill  Street.  There  were 
strange  lines  on  his  face  when,  at  last,  the  little  woman, 
hurrying  breathlessly,  came  in  sight,  full  of  smiles  and 
expectation.  But  she  had  touched  rock  this  time,  and  he 
would  not  listen.  His  dignity  demanded  that  she  should 
be  punished. 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,  Louis ;  the  cab-horse  fell  down ; 
the " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  too,"  he  said  viciously,  those  mean 
lines  round  his  mouth  which  she  had  never  before  noticed, 
altering  him,  so  that  even  she  could  see  his  beauty 
eclipsed.  "  I  am  sure  you  could  not  help  it.  But  I  had 
an  appointment,  a  most  important  appointment,  that  I 
gave  up  to  meet  you,  and  I  had  only  an  hour  to  spare.  It 
is  scarcely  worth  while  to  lunch  together  now.  I'll  go 
round  to  the  Club.  I  suppose  you  can  get  home  all 
right?" 

"  Yes ;  I  can  get  home  all  right,"  she  answered  me- 
chanically, and  turned  to  go. 

Like  most  sensitive  people,  when  Joan  felt  deeply  she 
became  tongue-tied.  The  shock  of  his  drawn  mouth  with 
the  lines  in  it,  ignoble  ones,  spiteful,  small,  petty,  was 


170  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

more  than  his  words  or  actions.  She  knew  instinctively 
he  had  no  other  appointment. 

She  was  out  of  sight  before  he  realised  that  he  had 
expected  tears,  protestations,  humble  apologies.  He  knew 
women  so  well,  but  Joan  had  still  surprises  for  him,  and, 
though  he  loved  her  in  his  own  way,  he  hated  her  for 
having  taken  him  at  his  word,  for  not  having  stopped  to 
argue  with  him.  For  a  week  he  kept  completely  away 
from  her,  for  a  whole  week  he  left  her  alone  in  that 
country  cottage,  without  a  letter,  without  a  visit,  without 
a  word. 

Eyes  that  weep  much  see  clearly:  something  was 
washed  away  from  Joan's  eyes  in  that  week.  And,  for 
the  first  time  since  she  had  given  herself  to  her  lover, 
her  mind  moved  a  little,  though  still  it  moved  more  in 
imagery  than  in  reason.  All  that  week  she  saw  pictures 
of  Paolo  and  Francesca  going  together  into  Hell,  with 
their  arms  entwined,  their  eyes  on  each  other's  face,  hap- 
pily defying  pain,  thirst  and  heat  and  agony  forgotten. 
She,  too,  felt  the  thirst,  the  heat,  and  the  Hell  flames 
leaping  up  and  scorching  her  feet;  but  not  into  Louis's 
eyes  did  she  gaze  to  find  liquid  food,  not  with  the  glory 
of  his  love  could  she  hope  to  vanquish  pain.  Right  into 
the  gloomy  pit  itself  she  looked,  and  she  looked  into  it 
shuddering  and  solitary. 

Joan  had  still  a  poor,  bedraggled,  painful  pride  left  to 
her;  Louis  had  the  ineradicable  obstinacy  of  a  small 
nature.  It  was  she,  of  course,  who  yielded,  for  in  her 
heart  she  did  not  doubt  that  he  loved  her,  although,  after 
he  had  stayed  away  from  her  for  a  week  because  she  had 
kept  him  waiting  for  twelve  minutes,  he  was  never  again 
the  perfect,  divine  Louis  of  her  dreams.  When  the  week 
had  dragged  itself  out,  she  put  her  hurt  pride  where  all 
her  other  virtues  had  gone,  and  wrote  him  a  little  letter 
asking  for  forgiveness,  forgiveness,  though  she  had  not 
sinned ;  a  letter  with  her  love  in  it  tremulous. 

"DEAR  Louis, — I  was  wrong.  Don't  punish  me  any 
more.  I  am  sick  with  crying — "  it  began. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  171 

When  he  read  her  pitiful  letter,  he  said  to  himself  she 
had  had  her  lesson.  His  heart  swelled;  how  well  he 
understood  the  management  of  women!  For  the  future 
she  would  be  more — more  humble,  she  would  know  her 
place  better;  he  would  have  less  trouble  with  her.  He 
had  missed  her,  too,  and  vaguely,  only  vaguely,  had  been 
conscious  of  a  certain  uneasiness.  For  he  must  not  risk 
anything. 

Louis  was  still  buying  Geldenriefs — buying  Geldenriefs 
had  become  an  obsession  with  him.  And  he  had  muddled 
things,  too.  Louis,  seeing  others  as  he  saw  himself, 
trusted  nobody.  Another  and  yet  another  broker  executed 
his  commissions.  He  thought  himself  cheated,  now  of  a 
turn,  now  of  a  sixteenth,  in  the  price.  He  thought  his 
scheme  had  got  wind,  and  hurriedly  sold  to  allay  sus- 
picion. He  was  wretched  when  he  had  parted  with  the 
shares,  and  could  not  rest  until  he  had  bought  them  back. 
There  were  over  a  hundred  thousand  still  in  the  market, 
and  he  hated  the  idea  that  anybody  else  should  make  a 
profit  out  of  them.  He  was  such  a  small  man  in  business. 
He  did  not  know  that  often  to  give  away  money  is  the 
way  to  make  it.  Without  Karl  he  would  have  been  selling 
matches  at  a  street  corner  for  the  ready  cash  that  he 
understood.  His  last  action  had  been  to  buy  the  call  on 
twenty-five  thousand,  and  the  shares  were  now  at  two 
and  five-sixteenths!  The  Stock  Exchange  is  vibrant  as 
a  galvanic  battery  fully  charged.  Through  all  its  sensi- 
tiveness it  felt  that  Geldenriefs  were  "  going  better,"  and 
fhat  there  was  a  "  rig"  on.  Nobody  knew  why,  no- 
body stayed  to  question  values.  But  the  jobbers  put 
the  price  up  and  up,  and  recognised  that  there  were 
always  buyers. 

The  week,  full  of  Geldenriefs,  empty  of  Joan,  had  soft- 
ened his  temper  toward  her ;  he  had  achieved  his  object, 
her  letter  moved  him,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  moved  by 
it,  he  answered  it  in  person. 

"  You  are  sorry,  I  know  you  are  sorry.  But  I  was 
right,  you  feel  that  I  was  right,  to  think  you  could  not 


172  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

care  to  see  me  if  you  could  not  even  come  to  me  at  the 
time  I  told  you?"  was  what  he  said  to  her. 

She  satisfied  his  petty  pride.  She  ought  not  to  have 
kept  him  waiting,  she  admitted  it.  It  was  quite  true  he 
was  overwhelmed  with  important  appointments,  whilst 
she  had  nothing  to  do  but  obey  his  wishes.  She  perceived 
that  he  insisted  on  her  seeing  that,  she  was  awaking  to 
him  slowly. 

"  What  does  your  man  Browning  say  ? 

'  Meet  if  thou  reqnirest  it  all  demands, 
Laying  strength  and  spirit  in  thy  hands' ; 

and  you  couldn't  do  a  little  thing  like  keeping  an  appoint- 
ment punctually!" 

She  could  not  argue  with  him  nor  defend  herself ;  she 
could  only  be  glad  he  was  with  her  again.  She  could  only 
try  not  to  realise  what  his  conduct  had  meant,  try  to  keep 
her  eyes  shut  a  little  longer. 

The  next  occasion  on  which  Louis  felt  it  necessary  to 
assert  himself  was  even  more  trivial.  To  Louis,  being  a 
dressy  man,  the  right  waistcoat,  the  latest  thing  in  trou- 
sers, the  curve  of  his  hat-brim,  the  colour  of  his  neckties, 
and  the  fit  of  his  boots,  were  all  vital  matters.  Joan,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  careless,  almost  untidy,  about  her 
dress,  anyway  completely  indifferent.  So,  during  the  first 
days  of  their  life  at  Bushey,  Louis  had  given  her  a  list  of 
fashionable  establishments  she  was  to  go  to  for  this  or 
that  article  of  attire,  and  told  her  which  fitter  she  was  to 
ask  for,  what  details  she  was  to  insist  upon.  And  smiling, 
yet  hardly  believing  that  he  was  serious,  but  happy  that 
he  cared,  she  had  scrupulously  carried  out  his  instructions. 
But,  a  few  days  after  their  reconciliation,  the  days  being 
cold  and  damp,  she  wanted  something  loose,  womanish, 
comfortable,  and  bought  a  dressing-gown  in  the  village 
shop.  He  surprised  her  in  it,  coming  down  one  day  when 
the  brokers  and  jobbers  had  combined  to  upset  him,  and 
he  wanted  the  companionship  of  some  one  who  thought 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  173 

him  perfection.  He  wanted  soothing.  She  was  curled 
up  in  the  dressing-gown  on  the  sofa,  looking  small  and 
pale  and  pathetic;  but  she  sprang  up  to  meet  him.  A 
month  ago  she  had  said  the  word  "  unhappiness"  had  no 
meaning  for  her.  If  she  was  indeed  still  ignorant  her 
face  belied  her.  Her  lips  were  tremulous,  there  were  dark 
shadows  beneath  her  eyes,  the  colour  had  vanished  from 
her  cheeks. 

"Joan!   What  do  you  call  that  thing?" 

"  What  ? — oh !"  her  voice  shook.  He  bewildered  her,  in 
very  truth ;  so  joyfully  had  she  sprung  to  meet  him. 

"  What  a  fearful  thing !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you 
got  it  at  Eugenie's  ?" 

"  My — oh,  my  tea-gown,  Louis !" 

"  Oh,  is  it  a  tea-gown  ?  I  thought  it  was  a  bed-gown. 
Good  Heavens!  how  can  women  choose  such  things? 
Eugenie  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself;  it  makes  you 
look  sallow — and  as  for  figure,  well " 

"  I  did  not  get  it  at  Eugenie's,  Louis ;  don't  be  angry, 
dear.  I'll  change  it." 

She  moved  hurriedly,  she  was  all  tremulous,  frightened 
of  him  or  of  herself.  She  could  not  face  another  scene. 

"  Let  me  go  and  change  it." 

But  Louis  was  inexorable ;  he  persisted  in  arguing  on 
the  heinousness  of  her  crime  in  going  anywhere  but  to 
Eugenie's,  when  it  was  to  Eugenie's  he  had  told  her  to 
go ;  he  liked  argument,  he  thought  he  shone  in  argument. 
He  said  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again ;  that  was 
his  idea  of  debate.  Had  not  he  told  her  not  to  shop  any- 
where but  at  Eugenie's?  It  meant  that  she  no  longer 
cared  to  please  him.  It  meant  the  beginning  of  the  end, 
the  "  little  rift  within  the  lute." 

It  was  not  only  that  the  thing  was  ugly,  common,  hor- 
rible, it  was  that  she  no  longer  cared  to  do  what  he 
wished  !  His  trick  of  easy  tears,  his  surface  emotionalism, 
turned  the  absurd  episode  into  tragedy;  and  Joan,  wh« 
had  not  been  used  to  weep  easily,  found  her  eyelids  burn- 
ing too. 


174  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

He  stayed  away  from  her  again  after  that,  and  she 
had  time  enough  for  the  burning  tears,  which  fell  when 
she  was  alone,  to  wash  away  more  illusions.  She  soon 
knew,  after  he  had  begun  to  sulk  with  her  and  stay  away 
from  her,  and  give  her  room  in  which  to  focus  him,  that 
three-fourths  of  him  were  woman.  But  when  she  knew, 
she  loved  him  still  because  of  her  virile  brain. 

She  burnt  the  dressing-gown ;  she  began  to  know  that 
i  never  would  he  hold  out  the  generous  olive  branch,  began 
to  suspect  that  all  the  generosity  must  be  hers,  but  still,  as 
we  have  seen,  she  was  a  good  giver,  and  she  went  on 
giving. 

Many  episodes  such  as  the  foregoing  marked  the  pas- 
sage of  the  spring.  These  quarrels  and  reconciliations 
were  the  savour  of  Louis's  days;  they  were  piquant 
sauces  to  the  staling  dish  of  his  desire. 

And  as  for  her,  had  he  not  warned  her  that  love  was 
pain?  But  she  suffered  it  gladly,  for  still  she  could  say 
to  herself,  "  My  lover  is  like  myrrh  unto  me,  all  night  he 
has  lain  between  my  breasts — my  lover  is  like  myrrh 
unto  me." 

The  time  came  when  Louis,  receiving  from  Pretoria 
the  cable  he  had  arranged  for,  announcing  that  Piet  de 
Groot  was  indeed  dead,  awoke  to  the  consciousness  that 
as  yet  he  had  not  mentioned  the  estate  to  Joan,  nor  made 
any  distinct  effort  to  obtain  the  reversion  of  it.  The 
cable  arrived  during  one  of  those,  now  ever  more  fre- 
quent, occasions  when  he  was  punishing  her  with  his 
absence  for  some  little  lapse  from  the  strict  code  he  had 
made  of  her  duty  toward  himself.  It  drove  him  in  haste 
•to  Bushey. 

If  on  such  occasions  she  never  met  him  with  the  peni- 
tence he  expected,  she  never  met  him  with  sullenness  nor 
resentment.  Knowing,  in  truth,  how  well  she  loved  him, 
and,  ever  unwitting  of  her  supposed  love-crimes,  she 
accepted  suffering  from  his  hands  as  she  had  accepted 
joy.  She  had  given  herself  to  him;  and  as  yet  there 
no  repentance. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  175 

To-day,  however,  when  he  came  to  her  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  Piet  de  Groot's  death,  he  found  her  in  a  strange 
mood.  He  had  something  to  tell  her,  but  she  too  had 
something  to  confide,  with  him  she  had  to  share  an 
unhappy  knowledge  which  nevertheless  filled  her  with  a 
strange,  a  tremulous  delight. 

Of  what  was  nearest  to  them  both  neither  spoke  at  first. 
Joan  was  dreading  the  usual  explanations  of  his  conduct 
in  which  Louis  revelled.  They  were  reflection-glasses  to 
the  pettiness  of  his  soul,  and  ever  she  wished  to  turn  her 
head  away,  so  that  she  might  not  see,  and  ever  he  forced 
her  back  with  insistent  talk  and  justification. 

To-day  she  was  spared  this. 

"  Don't  let  us  argue  to-day,  dear,"  he  had  said  to  her. 
"  I  am  tired,  out  of  spirits.  I  miss  you  when  you  are  not 
with  me.  What  a  pity " 

It  was  so  difficult  for  him,  even  to-day  in  this  tender 
mood,  to  avoid  saying  what  a  pity  it  was  that  she  was 
not  different. 

But  she  said  it  for  him.  Their  little  sitting-room  was 
gay  with  daffodils,  and  he  had  come  to  her  and  said  he 
had  missed  her. 

Outside  the  window  was  a  nesting  robin;  Joan  had 
been  watching  it  when  Louis's  brougham  drove  up,  and 
she  showed  it  to  him.  She  had  smiled  when  he  asked  her 
not  to  argue  with  him  to-day,  but  he  had  not  seen  her 
whimsical,  sad  smile ;  still  it  lingered  on  her  lips  and  in 
her  eyes,  and,  when  he  kissed  her  to-day,  he  kissed  her 
a&ain  like  a  lover.  She  turned  to  him  so  gladly,  he  put 
his  arm  about  her  and  kissed  her  hair.  She  was  beginning 
to  know  him,  but  still  th'e  very  breath  of  him  was  sweet 
to  her.  She  laid  her  head  a  moment  happily  against  his 
shoulder;  she  was  anxious  to  satisfy  all  his  exactions, 
and  would  have  been  all  a  man  could  want  if  only  he  had 
dealt  with  her  honestly. 

"  Have  you  missed  me,  little  Joan  ?" 

"  I  always  miss  you  when  you  stay  away  from  me. 
What  else  have  I?" 


176  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Give  me  some  tea,  will  you  ?  then  we  can  talk." 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  ?"  she  asked  him,  with  an  eager- 
ness she  could  not  disguise. 

"  I  think  I  can  squeeze  in  a  day.    I  must ;  I  want  rest." 

"  Do  I  rest  you  ?"  she  asked,  nestling  against  him. 

"  You  are  sweet  to  me — sometimes." 

"Oh,  Louis!" 

"  Well,  we  won't  talk  about  it  just  now.  I'll  go  up  and 
wash." 

"  And  I'll  ask  Mrs.  Forbes  to  make  you  some  hot,  but- 
tered toast." 

"  Growing  into  a  good  housekeeper  at  last?" 

"  Into  anything  you  would  have  me  grow,"  she  an- 
swered passionately,  tears  being  not  far  off.  And  he 
laughed,  well  pleased  with  her  mood. 

They  had  tea  together,  tea  and  daffodils.  She  waited 
upon  him,  and  he  had  the  grace  not  to  tell  her  that  the 
butter  was  salt  and  the  tea  too  little  drawn. 

"  Do  you  remember  our  first  tea  at  Musenburg  ?"  she 
asked  him. 

"  I  remember  everything." 

He  drew  her  down  on  to  his  knee.  In  that  position 
they  could  talk.  She  hid  her  face  against  his  coat.  She 
dared  not  say  "  Oh,  Louis !  why  are  you  not  always  like 
this?"  In  truth,  the  fear  of  him,  of  those  reflecting 
glasses  with  which  speech  endowed  him,  had  lain  upon 
her  lately  like  a  nightmare.  To  hide  his  soul  from  herself 
was  almost  a  prayer  with  her.  For,  sweet  was  his  breath 
and  soft  were  his  lips,  his  straying  hands  magnetic,  and 
when,  as  now,  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  it  seemed  to  her 
she  had  nothing,  nor  words  nor  self,  to  tell  him  how  she 
loved  him. 

But  she  could  tell  him  something,  now,  to-day ;  whilst 
he  was  like  this,  she  could  tell  him  something. 

"  Louis,"  she  began,  and  hesitated. 

But  he  also,  in  his  mood,  thought  he  must  ask  her,  tell 
her,  something,  and  being,  in  fact,  more  feminine  than 
she,  was  the  first  to  speak  out. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  177 

"  Tell  me,  Joan,"  he  said,  caressing  her  hair ;  "  tell  me, 
I  want  to  know,  we  have  never  spoken  of  it,  but  I  want 
to  know ;  do  you  ever,  have  you  ever,  thought  of  your 
husband  since  we  have  been  together?" 

Joan  winced,  put  her  head  down  quickly  against  his 
shoulder,  and  the  answer  came  muffled  and  low,  "  Often 
—lately." 

But  for  the  space  of  a  second,  more  acute  than  any- 
thing, was  the  flash  of  remembrance  of  a  blue  sky  and  a 
sapphire  sea,  and  a  voice  low  and  tender,  saying  passion- 
ately, "  Never  call  him  '  husband'  again.  Never  say  it, 
darling,  I  can't  bear  it.  You  have  never  had  a  husband ; 
he  is  blotted  out.  I  can't  hear  the  word  from  you;  you 
ought  not  to  have  said  it." 

In  wonderful  moments  since  then,  Louis  had  breathed 
"  wife"  into  her  ear,  but  she  had,  as  he  had  bidden  her, 
dissociated  the  word  "  husband"  from  her  memories  of 
Piet  de  Groot,  and  the  pang  of  it  coming  now  from  Louis 
was  like  a  knife. 

"  What  have  you  thought  ?  Have  you  heard  anything  ? 
What  have  you  heard?"  he  asked  eagerly,  and  then,  re- 
membering, caressed  her.  "  You  must  not  mind  telling 
me;  I  suppose  you  write  to  him  regularly;  I  knew  you 
would  do  what  was  right.  We  mustn't  hurt  him." 

"  Oh,  Louis !"  the  words  escaped  her,  and  she  caught 
his  hand,  and  looked  up.  "  You  say  we  must  not  hurt 
him.  I  used  to  say  that  too.  But  I — I  have  prayed  this 
month  past,  every  night  on  my  knees,  every  morning, 
•there  has  been  an  unspoken  prayer  in  my  heart,  every 
hour  of  the  day,  that  God  would — take  him.  Oh,  Louis ! 
Can't  you  guess?  Have  you  guessed?  Is  that  why  you 
are  speaking  of  him  now  ?" 

There  was  a  pause,  she  felt  his  hold  on  her  loosen. 
He  caught  her  meaning  in  an  instant,  the  recoil  was  in- 
voluntary. Then  he  remembered  himself,  and  gath- 
ered her  closely  in  his  arms,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  his 
breast. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  before?" 

12 


178  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  I  haven't  seen  you  for  four  days — and  I  was  not 
certain." 

"  I  have  had  so  much  to  do,  I  could  not  come." 

"  Are  you  glad  ?    Are  you  sorry  ?"  she  murmured. 

"  How  do  you  feel  about  it  ?" 

Her  temper  was  so  sweet,  her  knowledge  of  him  as  yet 
so  circumscribed  by  her  love  for  him,  that  she  forgot  for 
the  moment  all  the  drear,  hopeless  days,  all  the  exhibi- 
tions of  tyranny  and  of  temper,  everything,  but  that  which 
imagination  rather  than  facts  had  taught  her.  She  an- 
swered him  as  she  would  have  answered  him  three  short 
months  since. 

"  Nearer  Heaven.  It  is  yours,  part  of  you,  something 
you  have  given  me  that  nothing  can  take  from  me;  a 
gift  from  God  and  you,  '  the  divine  gift  of  God  upon  love 
that  deserves!'  It  makes  the  old  Greek  letters  on  the 
ring  you  gave  me  stand  out  like  a  flame,  against  all  the 
darkness  there  has  been — efc  ««'.  And  now  you  lie  so 
close  to  me,  so  close  within  me,  that  I  can  even  bear  your 
absences,  because  you  have  left  me  something  of  yourself. 
Oh,  Louis !  how  I've  wanted  to  tell  you !  Oh,  my  love, 
my  love,  what  a  oneness  it  is,  you  and  I  and  he !" 

"  So  you've  made  up  your  mind  it  is  a  '  he,'  "  he  smiled, 
but  his  smile  was  forced.  However,  she  was  out  of  his 
ken  now,  and,  with  her  head  against  his  breast,  she  could 
not  see  his  thin  lips  tighten. 

"  My  little  Louis,"  she  murmured ;  "  oh  yes,  I  see  his 
eyes  about  me  always,  and  his  little  hands  stray  up  to 
touch  me.  I  feel  his  sucking  lips  against  my  breast. 
What  you  have  given  me!  what  you  have  given  me!" 
And  a  silence  fell  between  them,  the  while  she  held  the 
cooing  baby  in  her  heart,  and  Louis  held  them  both. 

The  man  against  whose  breast  she  lay,  whose  lips  ca- 
ressed her,  gentle  in  every  movement,  and  three-fourths 
of  him  woman,  followed  her  thoughts  and  was  moved, 
because  the  pathos  of  it  rippled  over  the  easily  touched 
surface  of  him  like  a  wind.  But,  in  his  shallow  depths, 
with  those  telltale  lines  showing  round  his  mouth,  his 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  179 

inner  self  was  muttering  "  she  wants  De  Groot  to  die ; 
she  takes  it  for  granted  I  will  marry  her.  What  a  cursed 
nuisance  it  is  that  she  should  be  in  this  condition.  How 
on  earth  is  it  to  be  kept  quiet?  I  suppose  she  won't  try 
and  get  rid  of  it.  I  had  better  not  tell  her  just  now  that 
De  Groot  is  dead.  The  farm  must  wait;  if  it  is  hers,  it 
is  mine.  There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  telling  her 
just  at  this  moment  that  De  Groot  is  dead." 

And  then  he  was  sweet  with  her,  questioned  her  as  a 
woman  might  have  done,  and  seemed  to  justify  her. 

He  could  not  leave  her  alone  at  Bushey  for  the  next 
few  days.  She  thought  it  was  sweet  of  him  when  he  told 
her  this.  She  surely  wronged  him  when  she  saw  him 
other  than  he  was  now.  The  revolt  against  her,  for  what 
she  had  told  him  revolted  him,  so  strangely  sensitive  are 
such  men,  made  him  more  tender  to  her,  but  she  could 
not  know  it  was  the  revolt.  She  was  a  woman  of  moods, 
emotional ;  and  he  seemed  to  make  the  spring  about  them 
rare,  as  if  the  sunshine  sparkled  in  bud  and  breeze,  as 
if  the  heavens  were  open  and  the  scented  winds,  envel- 
oping the  tall  tree-tops,  were  fanned  about  them  by  the 
branches. 

The  next  day  they  were  wandering  together  round  the 
pond  on  the  Common,  when  the  name  of  De  Groot  fell 
again  between  them.  There  were  ripples  of  sunlight  on 
the  water,  the  mother  ducks  were  waddling  proudly  round 
their  little  quacking  broods.  Almost  one  heard  the  growth 
of  things,  the  rustling  undergrowth  of  the  spring,  the  sap 
Vising  in  the  trees,  all  the  new  life  of  the  year  quickening 
in  the  pulses  and  flushing  in  the  cheeks. 

Joan's  spirits,  that  day,  were  as  light  as  the  hearts  of 
the  birds  that  sang  joy  about  their  fledglings.  Light,  too, 
shone  in  her  blue  eyes,  about  her  lips,  her  humours  played 
about  Louis,  she  was  the  old  Joan  that  day,  as  for  twelve 
hours  Louis  had  been  the  old  Louis.  Phrases  even  formed 
themselves  again  for  her,  and  a  whole  story  of  home  life 
in  England  was  as  an  atmosphere  in  which  her  spirit 
moved.  She  was  exultant  in  her  coming  motherhood; 


180  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

shame  during  that  one  short  hour  was  as  far  from  her 
as  from  wedded  mothers.  She  was  in  the  heart  of  the 
growth  of  the  year.  As  they  walked  together  her  shoul- 
der touched  his  arm,  as  they  stood  together  to  watch  the 
little  broods  her  hand  slipped  into  his. 

"  Isn't  it  wonderful  to  be  alive  ?  Isn't  it  wonderful  to 
give  life?  Watch  the  pride  of  that  grey  waddler;  she 
carries  her  head  erect  and  quacks,  literally  quacks  with 
the  pride  of  the  seven  downy  little  things.  I  wish  the 
drake  were  with  them.  I  feel  a  weird  desire  to  see  Mother 
Duck  and  Father  Drake  waddle  up  the  aisle  of  a  parish 
church  with  the  seven  daughters  following  in  their  wake. 
This  is  the  time  of  the  year  one  hears  the  appeal  of  the 
church  bells  across  green  fields,  and  the  smell  of  the 
ploughed  land  is  everywhere.  Are  you  in  a  sentimental 
mood,  Louis?  I  am.  I  want  to  go  back  to  the  Arizona. 
I  want  to  sit  on  deck  and  watch  the  waves  disappearing 
tinder  the  ship,  and  remember  all  my  dreams.  I  want 
baby  to  know  of  them.  He  will  have  found  the  Holy 
Grail;  he  will  come  straight  to  me  from  Heaven,  with 
the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land  in  his  shining 
eyes — eyes  like  yours,  but  young,  with  starry  centres — 
and  in  his  dimpled  baby  hands  will  be  the  torch  of  Peace. 
He  will  be  as  an  angel  in  the  house.  Nothing  I  do  or  say 
will  vex  you  again,  for  all  the  spirits  of  Harmony  will 
play  about  his  downy  head,  and  be  wafted  from  his  sprout- 
ing wings.  He  will  teach  us  faith,  too,  Louis;  he  has 
taught  it  me  already.  What  things  he  will  coo  to  us, 
lying  smiling  at  us  together.  Oh!  I  see  such  wonders, 
such  glories  through  his  shining  eyes.  It  wasn't  through 
flower-gemmed  paths  and  under  leafy  trees  we  were  to 
walk  hand  in  hand  to  the  gates  of  Heaven ;  it  is  through 
my  baby's  eyes  we  shall  find  them,  and  beyond  will  be 
the  kind  face  of  God,  smiling  on  us  because  we  loved 
each  other  so." 

And  it  was  Louis  Althaus  who  listened  to  her  confi- 
dences !  It  was  the  last  time  she  spoke  her  soul  to  him. 
As  she  spoke  and  walked  by  his  side,  he  noted  that  the 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  181 

trimness  of  her  figure  was  gone.  Momentarily  his  mind 
projected  itself  into  the  future,  a  few  months  hence,  and 
the  picture  of  her  then  walking  by  his  side  nauseated  him. 
But  uppermost  in  his  mind  this  afternoon  was  the  thought 
that  he  must  speak  to  her  about  her  husband  and  about 
the  farm.  He  could  not  make  up  his  mind,  could  not 
bring  himself,  to  tell  her  that  De  Groot  was  dead;  but 
he  must  have  her  promise,  her  written  promise,  to  trans- 
fer the  land  to  him.  He  must  make  himself  master  of 
the  situation.  He  had  not  faced  the  problem  that  must 
arise  when  Karl  should  find  him  in  possession ;  but,  that 
he  must  be  in  possession,  must  be  master  of  what  Karl 
had  called  the  kernel  of  Geldenrief,  he  felt  in  every  grasp- 
ing fibre  of  him. 

And  the  woman  would  have  a  claim  upon  him,  a  double 
claim.  He  glanced  at  her  out  of  the  corners  of  his 
eyes,  and  he  resented  her  having  that  claim  upon  him. 
Never  before  had  such  an  incident  vexed  Louis's  amor- 
ousness. He  felt  bitterly  that  Joan  ought  not  to  have 
done  it. 

Then,  as  if  she  read  his  thoughts,  she  too  grew  silent.. 
but  presently  said  to  him  abruptly,  for  she  was  a  woman 
of  moods,  and  the  spring  day  seemed  closing  coldly  about 
them,  the  heavens  withdrawing  their  glory,  and  the  early 
dusk  hiding  the  young  greenness : 

"  Louis,  yesterday  you  asked  me  about  Piet.  I  could 
not  answer  then.  Why  did  you  ask?  Have  you  heard 
anything?" 

"  Heard  anything  ?  what  should  I  hear  ?" 

"  I  did  not  know ;  you  have  many  correspondents  in 
Cape  Town ;  he  was  very  ill  when — we  left." 

"  You  would  be  more  likely  to  hear  than  I  should,  if 
anything  had  happened  to  him." 

"  Oh,  no ;  before  I  left  I  wrote  to  him,  and  told  him 
what  I  was  going  to  do.  I  said  '  good-bye'  to  him  for 
ever." 

"  What !"  He  turned  on  her ;  he  could  not  believe  he 
had  heard  correctly.  He  was  stunned,  he  could  not  get 


182  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

out  another  word;  the  mine,  the  farm,  Piet's  will,  were 
racing  about  in  one  little  whirlwind  in  his  little  mind. 

"  Yes !  He  had  been  giving  me  an  allowance.  Looking 
back  now,  I  know  I  was  a  bad  wife  to  him,  an  unloving 
wife.  I  told  him  so,  told  him  that  I  was  alone  to  blame, 
all  through.  I  told  him  I  knew,  now  I  knew,  that  I  had 
wronged  him  always/' 

"  How — dared  you !" 

She  looked  at  him,  amazed,  startled,  not  understanding ; 
yet  she  could  see  that  he  was  struggling  with  some  emo- 
tion. 

"  I  could  not  do  anything  else ;  surely,  I  could  not  do 
anything  else  ?" 

"  And  you  concealed  it  from  me?"  It  was  anger,  pas- 
sion, that  emotion  she  could  not  understand.  Oh !  there 
must  be  another  scene  between  them;  her  heart  turned 
sick  within  her. 

"  Dear,  I  did  not  conceal  it.  It  was  nothing  to  speak 
of  between  you  and  me.  It  was  between  me  and  Piet. 
I  said  good-bye  to  him;  I  told  him  everything  was  my 
fault.  Then  I  came  to  you — free !" 

"  Good  heavens  !  how  awful,  how  unpardonable,  to  give 
away  our  secret,  my  secret.  And  you  knew  how  wrong 
it  was,  how  wicked,  that  is  why  you  never  told  me,  never 
consulted  me." 

His  words  came  with  difficulty,  he  was  choked  with 
anger  and  dismay ;  he  could  have  struck  her  as  she  walked 
foeside  him,  something  in  her  gait,  a  slowness,  making 
evident  the  misfortune  that  she  had  a  claim  upon  him. 
He  would  have  liked  to  fell  her  to  the  ground ;  he  hated 
her,  he  felt  he  hated  her. 

"  How  could  I  consult  you  ?  It  was  before — before  I 
went  on  board  the  Arizona.  How  could  I  tell  you  ?"  she 
asked  bewildered.  "  You  had  said  to  me,  '  never  mention 
his  name  to  me;'  those  were  early  days  with  us,  and  I 
thought  you  meant  it."  This  was  the  first  touch,  the  first 
word,  of  bitterness  that  had  passed  her  lips. 

He  turned  on  her  furiously: 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  183 

"  Much  you  care  what  I  meant,  or  what  I  wanted.  Any 
excuse  is  good  enough  for  a  woman  when  she  wants  to 
lie  to  you." 

"  Louis !"  She  shrank  as  if  he  had  struck  her,  and 
henceforth  was  silent. 

"  Yes,  lied ;  it  was  nothing  else.  You've  kept  this  fact, 
this  vital  fact,  concealed  from  me  all  this  time.  And  you 
pretend  you  thought  I  wished  it.  A  lot  you  care  for 
what  I  wish.  You  can't  even  keep  an  appointment  with 
me;  and  look  at  that  dressing-gown  you  bought.  You 
don't  care  for  me,  nor  for  anything  in  the  world  but  your 
cursed  writing.  I  can  imagine  the  sort  of  tale  you  pitched 
about  me  in  your  letter.  Our  life  together  has  been  a 
farce,  a  fraud,  from  beginning  to  end,  with  that  between 
us." 

He  had  no  real  words  for  what  angered  him.  How 
could  he  tell  her  it  was  the  question  of  her  husband's  will, 
her  husband's  easily  altered  will,  the  farm,  that  so  moved 
him  ?  She  was  spared  that  a  little  while.  Meanwhile  the 
dressing-gown,  the  broken  appointments,  anything  and 
everything,  served  as  pegs  upon  which  to  hang  his  angry 
eloquence.  He  raked  up  every  difference  of  opinion,  every 
paltry  dispute  they  had  ever  had,  with  which  to  assail 
her. 

"  It  was  my  secret  as  much  as  yours ;  you  had  no  right 
to  tell  him.  I'll  never  trust  a  woman  again.  You  are  all 
alike;  there  is  not  one  of  you  to  be  trusted.  If  ever  a 
man  and  a  woman  have  a  secret  the  woman  blabs  it — I've 
seen  it  again  and  again — or  she  gets  into  a  mess,  and  out 
it  has  to  come.  What  a  fool  I  was  to  think  you  were 
different.  You  wrote  him  behind  my  back.  You  did  not 
care  what  became  of  me,  you  didn't  care  if  it  ruined  me !" 

"  Ruined  you !"   she  echoed,  startled. 

"  What  do  you  think  Karl  would  say  if  he  knew?  He 
had  not  grit  enough  to  do  it  himself;  but  do  you  think 
he'd  be  pleased  about  it?" 

But  it  was  not  of  what  Karl  would  say  that  Louis  was 
thinking;  it  was  of  what  Piet  de  Groot  would  do,  had 


184  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

done,  of  how  it  would  affect  himself,  of  what  he  should 
do.  Should  he  tell  her?  Should  he  ask  her?  What  of 
her  marriage  settlement  ?  What  of  the  farm  ?  The  man 
was  beside  himself  for  fear  he  had  spent  his  hundred 
and  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  for  nothing,  for  fear  his 
schemes  would  come  to  naught.  His  self-control  was 
gone ;  he  railed  at  her  like  the  unspeakable  thing  that  he 
was.  It  was  the  first  time  his  evil  temper  had  been  com- 
pletely articulate.  She  walked  dully  beside  him,  the  gath- 
ering clouds  lowering  upon  her ;  she  was  cold  and  sick. 

"  Let  us  go  home,"  she  said,  shivering,  "  let  us  go 
home,  Louis." 

"  Home !  a  nice  home  to  ask  a  man  to  go  to,  and  with 
a  woman  he  can't  trust.  I  wonder  how  many  other  peo- 
ple you  have  written  to ;  perhaps  you've  pitched  Karl 
a  yarn,  too.  I  suppose  you  told  him  I  led  you  away ?" 

Words  could  hardly  pass  the  hysteric  boundary  of  his 
throat.  Her  slower  gait  and  heavier  tread  angered  him 
greatly,  for,  indeed,  her  heart  was  stone,  and  her  feet  were 
leaden-weighted,  and  she  could  scarcely  walk.  He  had 
really  lost  control :  at  heart  a  coward,  in  brain  a  fool,  he 
saw  no  way  out  of  the  quandary  in  which  he  was  plunged. 

He  left  her  abruptly  at  the  door  of  the  cottage — with- 
out a  touch  of  the  hand,  without  a  word  to  palliate  what 
he  had  said;  he  went  away,  and  left  her  to  see,  as  tear- 
washed  eyes  see,  to  what  she  had  bound  herself,  to  whose 
son  she  would  give  birth. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  cruel  as  the  cruelty  of 
a  man  towards  a  woman  for  whom  his  passion  is  dead. 
There  is  no  power  so  absolute  as  the  power  for  torture 
that  a  woman  puts  into  a  man's  hands  when  she  gives 
herself  wholly  to  him,  with  no  tie  between  them  but  her 
love  and  his  honour.  Joan  had  kept  nothing  back,  had 
left  nothing  between  herself  and  desolation  but  Louis  and 
Louis's  love. 

After  that  hour  by  the  water,  and  all  she  had  told  him, 
he  left  her  in  total,  absolute  silence,  left  her  to  the  terror 
of  loneliness  and  the  torture  of  outraged  pride,  to  sleep- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  185 

less  nights  and  days  sick  with  disappointment,  full  of 
phantom  footsteps  and  postman's  knocks  that  brought  her 
nothing. 

Her  brain  rejected  him,  even  if  her  flesh  ached  for  him. 
The  dawning  knowledge  of  the  degradation  she  suffered 
in  loving  him  was  as  a  worm  in  her  brain,  boring  its 
agonising  way. 

If  she  could  then  have  written  as  she  then  could  feel, 
the  scarlet  letter  might  have  flamed  afresh  as  a  warning 
beacon  to  weak  women.  Her  self-respect  was  tortured; 
in  her  own  eyes  she  was  defiled. 


CHAPTER  TEN 


Louis's  passions  were  short-lived,  feeble  things,  his 
sullen  resentments  were  more  lasting.  He  fed  and  nur- 
tured his  grievances  until  they  grew  fat  and  bloated,  vam- 
pire shapes  that  filled  the  air  and  stank,  then  his  conscience 
grew  ill  through  them  and  died.  The  time  would  come 
when  the  strong  wind  of  expediency  would  arise  and  blow 
them  temporarily  away;  but,  in  the  meantime,  Joan  was 
left  alone.  The  woman  in  the  cottage  at  Bushey  sat  by 
herself  and  watched  the  sky,  dreary  now  and  grey,  and 
watched  the  rain  beating  down  the  buds,  making  little 
rivulets  down  the  casement  window,  soaking  through  the 
ill-fitting  joints,  puddling  on  the  sill.  She  sat  alone,  and 
thought  and  thought,  and  her  body  yearned  for  her  lover, 
while  her  brain  saw  him  clearly,  not  quite  clearly  though, 
for,  as  yet,  she  knew  little  of  what  he  wanted  of  her,  and 
nothing  of  the  farm.  But  what  she  saw  of  him  in  that 
painful  brain  made  her  flesh  a  torture-chamber  to  her, 
wherein  she  lived  with  screws  on  her  temples  and  racks 
on  her  limbs,  and  awaited  his  coming  without  hope  of 
delivery  thereby. 

For,  of  course,  he  would  come  again,  this  Louis,  so 
beautiful,  with  the  sensuous  appeal  against  which  she 
had  no  resistance,  with  the  mean  shrunken  soul  that,  per- 
haps, was  moving  against  her  heart  within  that  babe 
through  whose  eyes  she  was  to  have  seen  straight  up  to 
the  gates  of  Heaven! 

A  month  passed,  and  she  sat  by  the  cottage  window 
and  watched  and  watched,  but  never  came  her  lover, — 
a  whole  empty  month.  She  lived  through  it,  but  it  killed 
her  strength,  almost  her  courage. 

Many  things  happened  to  Louis  Althaus  in  that  month. 
186 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  187 

To  her  nothing  happened.  Nothing  came  to  the  woman 
but  pain,  always  more  pain  for  Joan,  the  fallen,  carrying 
her  unborn  bastard,  loving  her  lover,  and  knowing  him 
abominable,  mean,  yet  longing  for  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
the  touch  of  his  hand,  his  mere  presence.  Brain  and  body 
fought  over  him,  and  the  brain  never  won. 

Louis,  in  those  luxurious  rooms  in  Piccadilly,  decided, 
when  his  temper  had  cooled,  on  cabling  to  his  confidant 
in  Johannesburg  to  get  particulars  of  De  Groot's  death 
and  De  Groot's  will.  It  would  be  three  weeks  before  de- 
tails could  come  to  hand.  Meanwhile,  Joan  must  wait — 
no  matter  what  she  said  or  wrote — Joan  must  await  the 
coming  of  that  news  for  his  forgiveness.  His  forgiveness, 
it  seemed  to  him,  would  be  a  great  thing  even  then.  He 
resented  having  been  forced  into  plain  speaking,  he  re- 
sented being  still  without  definite  possession  of  the  farm, 
he  resented  Joan  giving  him  any  trouble ;  that  is  how  he 
worded  it  to  himself,  "  giving  him  any  trouble."  Then 
he  calculated  his  chances  afresh.  De  Groot  had  been  ill 
when  he  got  his  wife's  letter.  Had  not  Karl  said  his  ill- 
ness was  general  paralysis,  locomotor  ataxia?  Could  a 
man  suffering  from  locomotor  ataxia  alter  his  will? 
Louis's  brilliant  perpetual  health,  Louis  had  a  wonderful 
physique,  was  permitted  to  suffer  a  temporary  eclipse 
while  he  sent  for  a  doctor  and  cross-examined  him  as  to 
the  mental  effects  of  locomotor. 

"  Nervous  fellows  they  are,  those  South  African  mil- 
lionaires," said  the  fashionable  physician,  talking  to  a 
colleague  that  evening ;  "  the  life  they  lead  plays  the  very 
deuce  with  them.  I  was  with  a  fellow  just  now,  as 
healthy  a  man  as  I  ever  examined,  a  man  of  about  thirty. 
He  had  got  it  into  his  head  that  he  was  a  general  paralytic 
— what  do  you  think  of  that  ? — a  general  paralytic.  There 
was  not  a  symptom  of  locomotor  he  did  not  think  he  had, 
or  was  going  to  have.  And  he  questioned  me  and  cross- 
questioned  me  about  his  mental  capacity,  whether  I  would 
certify  him  as  fit  to  make  a  will,  how  long  after  the  dis- 
ease made  its  appearance  he  would  be  fit  to  make  a  will, 


188  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

and  I  don't  know  what  besides.  He  was  luxuriating  in  it. 
I  assure  you  the  fellow  was  as  well  as  I — better,  for  he's 
got  fifteen  years  the  pull  of  me — and  he's  looking  forward 
to  mental  decay  and  physical  deterioration  as  if  it  was  a 
question  of  to-morrow.  Nerves!  why,  they're  made  of 
'em." 

That  is  how  medical  history  is  made ! 

And  now  it  was  May.  Parliament  had  reassembled, 
Stephen  Hayward  had  returned  to  town,  and  Karl's  let- 
ters were  insistent  that  representations  should  be  made 
at  home  as  to  what  they  were  going  through,  what  the 
Uitlanders  were  being  made  to  bear  in  the  Transvaal. 
The  position  had  altered  in  every  way  for  the  worse,  Karl 
wrote,  since  Louis  had  left  South  Africa. 

"  Make  Stephen  Hayward  ask  a  question  in  the  House 
about  the  Van  Voeren  case ;  I  send  you  the  report.  Mrs. 
Simpson — you  remember  Mrs.  Simpson,  the  wife  of  the 
man  whom  we  picked  out  as  a  test  case  in  the  commando 
question — well,  she  found  a  Boer  policeman  in  her  house 
with  one  of  her  Kaffir  girls,  and  ordered  him  out.  He 
kicked  her  to  death.  Don't  make  any  mistake  about  it. 
I've  got  it  all  down,  black  on  white,  from  an  eye-witness. 
The  man  was  convicted  and  sentenced  to  death ;  but  the 
new  law  Kruger  made  came  in,  and  they  respited  him. 
Now  he's  let  off  with  four  months'  imprisonment!  Rub 
that  in,  will  you?  And  it's  only  because  Mrs.  Simpson 
was  an  Englishwoman,  and  her  husband  had  rather  gone 
to  prison  than  on  commando. 

"  I  wish  you  could  come  across  Joan  de  Groot ;  she 
might  work  it  up  into  something.  It's  just  the  stuff  for 
the  Nonconformists,  who  won't  move  in  the  matter  of 
these  swindling  concessions  and  the  strangling  of  the  gold 
industry.  There  will  be  a  lot  of  good  blood  shed  if  noth- 
ing is  done  at  home.  The  National  Union  means  business. 
I  shall  have  to  pay  Eloff,  the  old  man's  nephew,  some- 
thing like  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  on  one  excuse  or 
another,  before  I  can  even  get  the  Bank  properly  started." 

In  London,  already  in  May,  Parliament  had  re-assem- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  189 

bled  under  the  guidance  of  the  tottering  Liberal  Govern- 
ment of  1895,  and  the  doors  of  Society  were  flung  open. 
Louis's  "  open  sesame"  was  that  big  house  now  domi- 
nating London,  as  it  rose  broad  and  solid  before  the  Park, 
a  house,  generous  wide  and  high,  of  simple  elevation,  of 
fine  taste,  a  house  marking  an  epoch  in  architecture,  as 
well  as  an  epoch  in  finance:  And  it  was  the  boom  time 
in  South  African  mines ;  fortunes  were  made  in  a  day,  in 
an  hour.  The  South  African  Bubble,  prismatic  and  beau- 
tiful and  alluring,  rose  before  the  gaping  mouths  and 
avid  eyes  of  the  heirs  and  heiresses  of  impoverished  Eng- 
lish acres.  Of  political  affairs  in  South  Africa,  of  the 
Uitlanders'  grievances,  of  the  National  Union,  of  the  state 
of  public  feeling,  no  one  in  London  cared — and  Louis 
cared  less.  What  did  politics  matter  while  the  mines 
vomited  the  red  gold  into  his  and  Karl's  pockets  ?  "  Live 
and  let  live"  was  his  motto,  he  said  when  he  was  asked, 
personally  he  had  nothing  to  grumble  about. 

Constantia  Hayward  and  her  Crusade  were  mocked  and 
jeered  at  and  derided  this  particular  season.  She  and  her 
niece  could  go  nowhere  without  meeting  men  with  un- 
pronounceable names,  with  impenetrable  accents,  mas- 
querading now  as  Germans,  now  as  Dutchmen,  yellow 
men  with  bitten  nails,  and  Mongol  cheek-bones,  men  with 
whisky  concessions,  rich  and  fat  with  the  dregs  and  refuse 
from  the  black  man's  drunken  orgies,  men  with  bald 
heads,  black  eyes,  vulture  noses,  men,  aye,  and  women  too, 
whom  no  country  owned,  and  no  race  claimed,  the  slime, 
the  scum  of  nations.  They  blew  the  bubble  of  the  South 
African  mines  with  their  fetid  breath  until  it  hung,  gold- 
hued  and  glittering,  high  over  ruined  homes  and  bankrupt 
castles. 

Constantia,  with  Aline  in  her  wake,  passed  scornfully 
through  the  serried  ranks  of  the  gold-bringers  and  the 
gold-seekers. 

In  these  ranks  there  were  women  who  had  been  of  the 
Cape  Town  pavement,  but  were  now  dwelling  on  the  in- 
side of  the  doors  of  Piccadilly,  instead  of  loitering  before 


190  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

them;  women,  driving  through  Bond  Street,  in  embla- 
zoned carriages,  with  feathers  in  their  fashionable  bonnets, 
diamonds  and  pearls  round  their  dishonoured  necks,  wear- 
ing their  borrowed  plumage  of  changed  names ;  but  har- 
pies and  harlots  nevertheless,  with  hard  eyes  and  painted 
smiles. 

Among  such  men  and  women  as  these,  Louis  Althaus 
was  a  king.  He  had  every  external  grace,  an  air  slightly 
foreign,  but  distinguished,  a  fine  figure,  melancholy  eyes. 
The  sleek  hair  had  worn  a  little  further  from  the  fore- 
head than  when  he  was  here  before,  and  there  were  a 
few  lines  round  the  eyes.  But  all  the  Althaus  stocks  were 
higher. 

Louis  had  a  certain  limited  social  tact  or  instinct;  the 
little  burr  or  roll  of  the  "  r's"  went  well  with  the  impe- 
rial, with  the  manner,  a  little  too  polite,  perhaps,  towards 
the  men,  a  thought  familiar,  confidential,  but  infinitely 
charming,  they  said,  towards  the  women.  Other  South 
Africans  were  courted  for  their  wealth,  for  what  they  gave, 
or  presaged,  for  tips  or  entertainments,  but  Louis,  hand- 
some Louis  Althaus,  gradually  was  invited  to  intimate 
dinners,  to  theatre  parties,  to  river  excursions  and  race 
meetings,  because  the  women  liked  him. 

And  the  man  had  a  vanity.  Joan  in  her  suburban  cot- 
tage, who  had  given  him  everything  she  had,  and  now  was 
bankrupt  of  allurements,  had  rivals  among  the  most  fash- 
ionable and  most  beautiful  hostesses  in  London.  Louis's 
charm,  Louis's  appeal,  was  to  the  senses,  and  it  is  in  the 
senses  that  all  these  society  women  live. 

He  relegated  Joan  to  the  background  of  his  mind  during 
the  three  weeks  that  he  waited  for  news  from  Pretoria. 
He  had  recovered  from  the  ungovernable  passion  into 
which  the  news  of  her  confession  to  her  husband  had 
flung  him,  though  he  had  not  forgiven  her.  He  prided 
himself  on  never  forgiving.  But,  once  his  temper  had 
grown  calm  and  his  thoughts  about  her  coherent,  he 
waited  with  certainty  for  the  day  when  she  would  write 
and  implore  him  to  return  to  her.  Then  he  would  per- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  191 

haps  play  Sultan,  then  he  would  perchance  stretch  out 
the  sceptre.  Everything  now  depended  on  the  news  from 
South  Africa,  not  the  political  news,  old  Karl  was  making 
a  ridiculous  fuss  about  that,  for  everything  would  go  on 
as  everything  had  always  gone  on,  and  the  firm  would 
always  grow  richer.  He  was  acting  on  instructions,  buy- 
ing and  forwarding  guns  and  ammunition,  but  he  treated 
the  matter  lightly,  notwithstanding.  He  did  not  for  a 
moment  seriously  believe  in  revolution. 

The  news  that  he  was  waiting  for  was  news  about 
De  Groot's  will,  and  the  farm  that  held  the  deep  of  the 
Geldenrief.  Joan,  without  the  farm,  had  ceased,  for  the 
moment,  to  be  desirable;  besides  she  was  always  there; 
there  was  no  need  for  hurry  about  her. 

Louis  was  not  without  rich  food  for  that  social  vanity 
of  his ;  and  the  existence  of  this  made  Joan's  position  pre- 
carious. For,  wonder  of  wonders !  one  of  his  conquests 
was  the  Lady  Violet  Alncaster,  daughter  of  the  fifteenth 
Duke,  and  cousin  to  Aline  Hayward,  Stephen's  daughter. 
This  conquest,  this  strange  victory,  absorbed  Louis  Alt- 
haus  for  the  first  fortnight  of  the  time  that  Joan  was 
waiting  and  watching  by  the  window.  It  was  Stephen, 
himself,  who  had  introduced  them,  for  Stephen  had  not 
forgotten  his  obligations  to  Karl.  He  had  called  on  Louis 
in  Piccadilly,  he  had  invited  him  to  dinner  at  the  Club, 
he  had  even  strolled  in  with  him  to  the  Opera,  and  taken 
him  up  to  his  uncle's  box. 

Lady  Violet,  getting  on  now  for  seven-and-twenty,  and 
vixenish,  saw  that  he  was  a  very  handsome  man,  graceful 
too,  with  eyes  eloquent  of  admiration  as  they  fell  upon 
her  meagre  charms.  Louis's  eyes  were  always  eloquent 
in  their  unfathomable  depths.  "  It  was  indeed  a  privi- 
lege," he  murmured  over  her  hand.  And  Lady  Violet, 
sharpened  through  the  social  mill,  knew  of  the  atmosphere 
of  millions  in  which  he  was  supposed  to  move,  knew  too 
that  her  betting-book  could  not  pay  her  milliner's  bills, 
and  that  her  brother  was  the  sponge  who  soaked  up  the 
family  resources. 


192  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,"  she  answered.  "  You 
are  the  first  millionaire  I  have  come  across.  How  does  it 
feel  to  be  rich?  The  Alncasters  have  always  been  poor." 

"  Rich  in  many  things,"  he  said,  speaking  low. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  carelessly,  think- 
ing he  meant  in  honours,  in  history ;  but  soon  he  let  her 
know  that  it  was  the  beauty  of  their  daughters  he  had 
meant.  This  type  of  man  has  only  one  method  with 
women.  Violet  had  never  been  a  beauty.  Even  the  pa- 
pers on  her  debut  had  forgotten  to  call  her  "  the  lovely 
daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Alncaster."  Her  angularities, 
her  impossible  shoulders,  flat  chest,  high  cheek-bones,  and 
thin  nose,  had  made  it  obvious  that  it  must  be  as  a  wit, 
and  not  as  a  beauty,  she  must  attract  attention.  That 
evening  at  the  Opera,  however,  when  Louis  was  intro- 
duced into  the  box  and  looked  at  her  with  longing  eyes, 
she  felt  complacently  that,  perhaps,  after  all  there  was 
something  beautiful  in  her  aristocratic  air.  While  they 
listened  to  Melba  singing,  she  felt  Louis's  eyes  full  upon 
her  in  the  sentimental  passages ;  when  they  left  the  house 
Louis  attended  her  to  her  carriage.  Bareheaded  he  stood 
by  the  window  and  gazed  upon  her  until  the  coachman 
whipped  up  the  horses.  For  the  first  time  in  her  aristo- 
cratic life  Violet  felt  she  was  the  heroine  of  a  romance. 

Louis  followed  up  his  glances  with  orchids.  He  had  a 
philosophy  about  women.  "  They  are  all  '  on  the  take,'  " 
summed  it  up.  "  Start  with  compliments,  get  to  flowers, 
sweets,  then  they  reluctantly  accept  bonnets,  and  you're 
there;  after  that  comes  jewellery,  but  it  always  ends  up 
with  money,  and  the  cheaper  you  get  off,  the  cleverer  you 
prove  yourself." 

This  man  Lady  Violet  Alncaster  permitted  to  take  her 
to  tea  at  Lady  Claridge's  garden-party.  His  admiration 
amused  her.  She  thanked  him  for  the  orchids.  He  said 
the  only  pleasure  he  had  had  since  that  night  at  the  Opera 
was  selecting  them.  The  refreshment  tent  had  seemed 
quite  attractive  after  that,  and  she  remained  with  him, 
following  the  tea  with  an  ice.  When  they  strolled  off  to- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  193 

gether  to  listen  to  the  music,  he  had  already  asked  her 
who  dressed  her,  and  complimented  her  on  her  charming 
figure. 

The  attitude  he  adopted  was  one  of  despairing  admira- 
tion; he  had  found  it  almost  invariably  efficacious  with 
these  high-born  ladies.  In  their  anxiety  to  persuade  him 
that  nothing  was  hopeless,  that,  great  and  beautiful  as 
they  were,  they  were  still  to  be  won  by  boldness,  they  soon 
reversed  the  tables  and  made  love  to  him.  Having  seen 
nothing  he  desired  to  gain,  his  modesty  remained  fasci- 
natingly prominent.  But,  socially  at  least,  he  had  netted 
nothing  so  big  as  Lady  Violet,  nothing  nearly  so  impor- 
tant. The  stage  in  which  Lady  Violet  began  to  make  love 
to  him,  when  he  was  always  retreating,  and  she  was  al- 
ways advancing,  commenced  within  a  week  of  their  first 
acquaintanceship.  Louis's  hall-table  in  Piccadilly  was  lit- 
tered with  cards,  for  it  was  soon  understood  that  where 
Louis  Althaus  went  Lady  Violet  Alncaster  liked  to  be 
also.  Her  friends  were  amused,  for  this  sort  of  folly  was 
not  what  they  had  expected  of  her,  or  to  which  she  had 
accustomed  them,  and  they  watched  the  entertainment 
she  provided  with  open  encouragement. 

Louis  was  intensely  proud  of  himself.  His  moustache 
and  his  imperial  received  more  caressing  attention  than 
ever  before.  His  mirror  was  more  assiduously  cultivated, 
and  his  satisfaction  with  it  more  pronounced.  Joan's 
chances  looked  poor,  for  Louis  had  begun  to  reason  with 
himself  as  to  what  he  owed  her,  as  to  what  he  risked  by 
leaving  her.  And,  as  the  days  went  by  and  she  did  not 
.write  and  beg  for  forgiveness,  he  argued  that  she  was  com- 
mitting a  love-crime,  that  she  was  obstinate,  that  she  was 
behaving  abominably  to  him,  that  she  deserved  to  be  pun- 
ished for  what  she  had  done.  The  way  she  was  behaving 
was  not  his  idea  of  love ;  Louis  was  great  on  love's  duties, 
and  there  was  nothing  he  would  not  exact.  He  argued  with 
himself  about  Joan,  and  there  was  only  one  side  to  the 
argument.  She  ought  to  write  to  him,  to  be  abject,  and 
own  she  was  wrong  to  have  written  to  her  husband  behind 

13 


194  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

his  back.  How  dare  she  sulk  with  him?  How  dare  she 
be  proud  with  him?  She  was — but  Louis's  thoughts  are 
unwriteable.  The  girl,  she  was  nothing  more  than  a 
girl  when  she  had  come  to  him,  had  lain  in  his  arms  and 
given  herself  to  him  because  he  would  have  no  less ;  and 
the  word  that  rose  in  his  mind  when  he  convinced  him- 
self that  she  ought  to  be  humble  with  him  cannot  be 
written. 

Joan's  chances  looked  poor,  as  Violet  showed  ever  more 
and  more  plainly  that  he  need  not  be  over-modest  in  the 
wooing  of  her.  Only  Louis's  taste  was  on  Joan's  side,  for 
he  had  taste ;  and  all  of  it  had  been  with  Joan.  She  was 
a  woman  to  any  man's  taste,  with  her  delicate  graces,  the 
poetry  of  her  soul,  the  flashes  of  her  intelligence,  her  sup- 
ple tendernesses.  More  and  more  she  came  back  to  his 
mind  as  the  days  went  on,  mornings  in  the  Row,  lunch- 
eons in  fine  houses,  with  softly  moving  servants,  tables 
bedecked  with  flowers  and  old  silver,  all  the  doors  of  May- 
fair  open  to  the  son  of  that  Polish  adventurer  and  the 
gutter-girl  from  Whitechapel.  His  cultivated  taste  was 
with  Joan.  He  saw  Lady  Violet  as  she  was,  a  shrewish 
thing,  beginning  to  turn  sour ;  he  revolted  from  her.  Her 
title,  her  position,  moved  him,  though  his  vanity  almost 
lifted  him  above  them;  that  they  attracted  him  to  her, 
even  superficially,  was  because,  feline  that  she  was,  she 
purred  over  him,  and  he  liked  being  purred  over. 

Karl,  over  in  Johannesburg,  heard  of  Louis's  social 
success.  It  was  Karl's  way  to  hear  of  everything.  He 
was  proud  of  the  position  the  handsome  fellow  had 
achieved ;  he  took  it  for  granted  that  Louis  was  working 
for  him,  was  carrying  out  his  instructions,  was  impressing 
society,  that  part  of  it  which  was  influential,  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  crying  needs  of  South  Africa.  He  took 
care  that  nothing  was  wanted,  pecuniarily,  for  Louis's 
social  campaign.  He  wrote  to  him  that  he  knew  they 
could  do  nothing  immediately,  but  that  there  would  be  a 
General  Election  in  the  autumn,  though  it  might  come 
before,  any  day,  in  fact;  there  would  then  be  a  redistri- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  195 

bution  of  seats  and  of  power,  the  Unionists  would  rake 
the  country  and  Stephen  Hayward  would  be  in  the  Cabi- 
net. Stephen  Hayward,  he  insisted,  must  be  hand  and 
glove  with  them,  with  the  National  Union.  Karl  wrote 
also  of  Sir  Henry  Loch's  visit,  and  of  all  they  had  hoped 
it  portended,  and  of  the  disappointment. 

Louis  had  hardly  time  to  read  the  letters,  dull  letters, 
they  were  to  him,  having  little  in  them  about  money.  Karl 
had  tumbled  accidentally,  as  it  were,  into  Imperialism, 
had  grown  into  intimacy  with  the  Great  Imperialist,  and 
found  at  last  a  great  aim  for  his  great  heart  and  under- 
standing. He  was  learning  love  for  his  country,  now 
that  out  there  it  seemed  weak,  despised,  despicable.  Karl 
thought  he  loved  money,  money  only,  but  to  his  surprise 
now,  at  the  root  of  his  heart,  pulling  at  it,  he  found  Eng- 
land. And  he  wrote  passionate  letters  home  to  Louis, 
who  barely  had  time  to  read  them,  who  pursued  Society, 
Lady  Violet,  and  the  gratification  of  his  vanity,  who  lived 
luxuriously,  and  was  learning  to  drive  a  four-in-hand. 

Only  one  thing  hurt  Louis ;  it  had  merely  amused  Karl, 
when  Karl  was  in  London,  but  it  hurt  Louis.  That  was 
the  Hayward  attitude.  Anywhere,  everywhere  almost, 
that  Lady  Violet  Alncaster  went,  Louis  could  go,  but  the 
open  sesame  had  no  effect  on  the  Hayward  door,  and  this 
annoyed,  worried,  and  irritated  him.  He  could  not  bear 
that  he  should  be  barred  anywhere.  It  fretted  a  little  of 
the  varnish  off  him,  and  made  him  show  a  glimpse  of 
the  material  of  which  he  was  composed. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  introduced  to  your  sister,"  he  said 
once  to  Stephen.  "  You  don't  entertain  at  all,  I'm  told  ? 
Can't  you  persuade  her  to  let  me  drive  her  down  to  Rane- 
lagh  one  day  ?  I've  got  a  coach." 

Stephen,  who  was  busy  with  the  prospect  of  a  General 
Election,  was  slightly  amused.  But  Karl  and  he  between 
them  had  accepted  Constantia's  attitude  as  a  joke,  and  he 
willingly  included  Louis  in  the  jest. 

"  Not  a  chance,  my  dear  fellow  ;  she  is  as  firm  as  a  rock 
about  it.  The  kingdom  of  Heaven — half-a-dozen  duM 


196  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

houses  where  nobody  wants  to  go — are  to  be  shut  to  the 
nouveaux  riches." 

"  I  might  persuade  her." 

Stephen  laughed.  "  Not  you ;  I've  tried  it  myself. 
But,  after  all,  cui  bonof  Do  you  want  to  go  to  the  Tem- 
plegroves  or  to  the  Arlingfords  ?  Because  if  you  do,  you 
must  have  strange  tastes.  No,  my  dear  fellow,  leave  it 
alone.  My  sister  has  little  to  amuse  herself  with  now  but 
her  exclusiveness,  and  her  crusade  against  outsiders,  and 
I  like  her  to  be  amused.  Why,  I  beat  up  recruits  for  her, 
and  strongly  persuade  all  the  dullest  hostesses  in  London 
to  be  guided  by  Constantia,  and  to  close  their  doors  to 
the  nouveaux  riches.  They  wouldn't  go  there  in  any  case, 
you  know,  so,  when  my  hint  is  carried  out,  nobody  is  hurt, 
and  my  sister  is  pleased.  Tell  me  now,  what  news  do  you 
get  from  the  Cape?  What  is  it  you  are  all  agitating  for? 
Can't  you  make  millions  fast  enough?" 

Stephen  spoke  with  interest.  Again  he  was  entertain- 
ing Louis  at  the  Club.  He  did  not  quite  like  the  fellow, 
and  this  was  only  the  second  time  he  had  been  alone  with 
him,  but  Stephen  was  a  politician,  and  South  African 
affairs  had  always  interested  him ;  he  too  had  had  letters 
from  Karl. 

"  I  suppose  you've  heard  from  my  brother.  Karl  is  a 
bit  of  a  faddist,  you  know.  Kruger  has  trodden  on  his 
toes  in  some  way  or  another,  and,  like  a  fool,  Karl  has 
joined  the  National  Union.  I  told  him  what  a  fool  he 
was  to  do  it.  Now  nothing  will  satisfy  him  but  that  the 
English  Government  should  back  him  up." 

"What  is  the  National  Union?" 

"  Oh !   a  few  discontented  journalists  and  lawyers." 

He  sketched  their  aims;  Louis  was  as  ill-informed  as 
he  was  traitorous.  Yet  Stephen  listened  to  him  with  in- 
terest, and  was  led  by  him.  Karl  had  written :  "  My 
brother  will  give  you  details."  All  that  Louis  told  him, 
however,  made  light  of  the  crisis,  ignored  the  seriousness 
of  the  situation,  described  the  conduct  of  the  Boer  Police 
as  on  a  par  with  that  of  the  Metropolitan  Brigade, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  197 

and  left  Stephen  Hayward  under  the  impression  that  the 
members  of  the  National  Union  were  the  Hooligans 
against  whom  they  made  war. 

In  fairness  to  Louis  Althaus,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
this  was  not  wilful  misrepresentation.  Nothing  that  was 
not  personal  to  himself  interested  him.  He  spoke  as  he 
felt,  as  he  thought.  Karl  was  a  great  man  at  finance, 
but  why  the  deuce  need  he  meddle  with  politics  ?  Stephen 
could  not  know  that  Karl's  adopted  brother  was  so  totally 
at  variance  with  Karl's  own  feelings  and  opinions.  He 
concluded  that  the  letter  he  had  received — very  temper- 
ately had  Karl  written  to  Stephen — was  an  exaggerated 
version  of  public  feeling,  that  Karl's  object  in  writing  it 
was  merely  to  give  him,  Stephen,  and  his  party,  a  pre- 
text for  attacking  the  Government.  But  they  had  other 
weapons. 

He  hoped  Louis  would  give  him  the  pleasure  of  his 
company  another  evening  at  the  Club.  He  apologised  for 
having  to  go  to  the  House,  he  asked  Louis  if  he  would 
care  to  accompany  him;  he  was  sure  of  a  seat  in  the 
gallery  for  distinguished  strangers.  Louis  regretted  his 
inability  to  go,  pleading  another  engagement.  Louis  was 
not  fond  of  being  an  onlooker,  and,  listening  to  a  debate, 
however  lively,  and  on  whatever  topic,  was  not  his  way 
of  amusing  himself.  He  preferred  to  go  on  to  Castle- 
maine  House,  where  there  was  a  reception,  and  where  he 
would  meet  Lady  Violet.  He  must  ask  Violet  about  Con- 
stantia  Hayward  and  about  the  Crusade. 

Castlemaine  House,  where  once  Johnson  had  dined, 
where  often  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had  been  entertained, 
where  Topham  Beauclerc  had  made  love  to  the  outraged 
wife  of  Sir  Richard  Vane,  and  George  III.  had  com- 
mented on  the  extravagances  of  the  table,  was  now  the 
town  abode  of  a  wealthy  brewer.  Doves  circled  above 
its  flat  roof,  and  made  strange  noises  that  broke  in  upon 
the  music.  Portraits  of  brewing  worthies  and  their  an- 
cestors filled  the  frames  made  for  Stuart  kings ;  modern 
imitations  of  Chippendale's  designs  took  the  place  of 


198  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Jacobean  furniture.  In  the  library,  whither  Violet  led 
Louis  after  the  dance,  there  was  hardly  room  for  histori- 
cal associations;  it  was  overfilled  with  curtains  and  up- 
holstery, and  unused  modern  books  in  impossible  modern 
bindings. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  fancy-dress  ball  at  Templegrove 
House?"  Louis  asked  Violet. 

"  I   don't  care  about  it.     I   suppose  I  shall  have  to 

go-" 

"  I  don't  like  your  going,"  he  said  softly.  "  I  don  t  like 
your  going  anywhere  where  I  cannot  be  with  you." 

"  Oh !  if  it  comes  to  that,"  she  said,  and  hesitated. 

"  I  know.  The  Ducheso  is  one  of  Miss  Hayward's  sup- 
porters ;  she  will  not  invite  any  but  aristocrats,"  he  an- 
swered with  a  short  laugh.  "  She  is  vour  aunt,  isn't 
she?" 

"Yes.    You  would  like  to  go?" 

"  I  like  to  go  wherever  you  go." 

The  tip  of  her  nose  and  the  lobes  of  her  ears  grew  pink ; 
it  was  the  famous  Alncaster  blush. 

"  I  think — I  think  I  could  get  a  card  for  you." 

"  Only  if  you  would  like  me  to  be  there." 

"  What  would  you  go  as  ?" 

"  I  should  first  ask  you  your  costume." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  lightly,  "  Xantippe  has  been  suggested." 

"  Not  if  I  went.    I  should  ask  you  to  go  as  Beatrice." 

"  To  your  Benedict  ?"    The  idea  was  not  unpleasing. 

"  To  my  Benedict." 

"  For  one  night  only  ?"    She  was  coquettish. 

"  That  would  be  as  you  might  decide." 

It  would  be  a  great  feather  in  Louis's  cap  if  he  could 
get  an  invitation  to  the  famous  fancy-dress  ball  at  the 
Duchess  of  Templegrove's. 

The  Duchess  of  Templegrove  was  almost  the  only  seri- 
ous ally  Constantia  had  secured ;  and  the  position  of  the 
Duchess  was  exceptional.  After  half  a  century  of  blue- 
blooded  poverty,  twenty  odd  years  of  a  more  than  sus- 
pected marital  infidelity,  she  had  been  released  by  Provi- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  199 

dence  from  her  obligation,  and  had  taken  salvation  at 
the  altar  from  the  hands  of  her  ducal  lover.  Because  the 
Duchess  of  Templegrove  had  so  completely  forgotten  that 
impecunious  shifty  countess,  whose  identity  lay  hidden 
amongst  her  strawberry  leaves,  she  had  decided  to  hold 
her  court  in  that  very  holy  of  holies  where  reigned  the 
chaste  Constantia;  or,  perhaps,  it  was  because  she  had 
not  forgotten.  And  Constantia,  whose  social  conscience 
permitted  no  evil  thought  of  a  lady  whom  her  sovereign 
had  always  received,  brushed  aside  the  talk  that  buzzed 
about  this  strange  reputation,  and  welcomed  her  with 
outstretched  hands. 

But,  whereas  Constantia's  aim  was  set  on  the  blood 
boundary,  Society  roped  in,  and  secured  for  the  nobly 
born  and  excellently  bred  only,  the  Duchess's  extreme 
anxiety  was  for  the  chaste,  the  untarnished,  those  who 
wore  their  woman's  crown  of  virtuous  life  shining  purely 
on  their  brows. 

Therefore,  when  Lady  Violet,  who  was  her  niece  as 
well  as  Constantia,  asked  her  for  a  card  for  the  famous 
fancy-dress  ball  that  was  to  mark  the  re-opening  of  Tem- 
plegrove House,  too  long  closed  during  the  faithful  bach- 
elorhood of  the  Duke,  she  did  not  stop  to  ask,  as  Con- 
stantia might  have  done,  for  the  pedigree  of  the  gentleman 
in  whose  name  it  was  to  be  made  out.  Perhaps,  had  she 
done  so,  Louis  would  still  have  had  his  card ;  for,  if  the 
Duchess  of  Templegrove  feared  anything,  it  was  Lady 
Violet's  sharp  tongue,  and,  if  the  Duchess  hoped  for  any- 
thing, more  than  her  marriage  had  given  her,  it  was  that 
Violet's  ancestry  should  solidify  the  title,  and  Violet's 
influence  should  redeem  the  character,  the  misspent  youth, 
of  the  vicious  son  who  bore  her  first  husband's  name. 

Lady  Violet  got  the  invitation  for  Louis  Althaus  with- 
out any  difficulty. 

Nothing  was  impossible,  nothing  was  even  difficult,  for 
him,  he  thought  exultantly  when  the  coveted  pasteboard 
was  in  his  hand.  The  same  post — the  very  same  post 
that  brought  it — brought  his  South  African  mail.  And 


200  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

it  told  him  that  not  only  was  Piet  de  Groot  dead,  but  his 
will  was  unaltered.  The  farm,  then,  was  his,  Louis's,  the 
farm  that  Karl  had  wanted.  Or,  at  least,  if  it  was  not 
his,  it  was  Joan's,  which  came  to  the  same  thing.  He  was 
exultant  in  his  prospects,  in  his  ability;  everything,  it 
seemed  to  him,  he  could  do — everything. 
He  must  see  Joan  to-morrow,  meanwhile 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 


TEMPLEGROVE  HOUSE  was  the  centre  of  London  on  the 
night  of  the  ball ;  it  took  a  whole  posse  of  policemen  and 
a  couple  of  men  on  horseback  to  keep  back  the  crowd  of 
sightseers.  Royalty  was  expected ;  not  only  the  Prince, 
but  the  Princess  had  promised  to  appear  in  costume. 
Crushing  up  that  historical  staircase,  illumined  in  a  rare 
blaze  of  light,  came  the  fantastic  crowd.  Exquisite  faces 
of  women  under  quaint  headgear,  under  jewelled  crowns, 
hung  with  strange  symbols  in  gold  and  gems,  smiled  with 
the  joy  of  the  masque,  laughed  in  the  triumph  of  their 
beautiful  hour.  Amongst  them  Beatrice — viperous,  vixen- 
ish, bored — looked  with  sharp  eyes,  with  pale  face,  in- 
congruous, for  the  tardy  Benedict. 

But,  indeed,  her  Benedict  had  not  tarried.  An  hour 
earlier,  almost  among  the  first  arrivals,  Louis,  brave  in 
slashed  velvet,  in  pointed  shoes,  in  doublet  and  hose,  car- 
rying his  hat  gracefully,  as  he  bore  his  figure,  a  Benedict 
without  world-weariness,  had  mounted  those  same  flower- 
decked  stairs,  and  had  found,  facing  him,  in  sudden  sur- 
prise, an  unexpected  Beatrice,  passing  fair,  and  more  than 
passing  tall. 

Stephen,  with  a  side  thought  of  poor  Constantia  locked 
up  in  Grosvenor  Street  with  the  grim  demon  of  influenza, 
gravely  presented  his  daughter.  Aline,  always  cold,  never 
particularly  gracious,  acknowledged  the  introduction  as 
Constantia  would  have  had  her  do,  with  the  slightest  pos- 
sible inclination  of  the  head,  and  an  indifferent  glance  that 
did  not  linger. 

Aline  was  in  a  dress  of  white  brocade,  richly  embroi- 
dered in  gold,  with  a  crimson  velvet  overdress  or  tunic, 
lined  and  trimmed  with  ermine;  the  jewelled  stomacher 

201 


202  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

was  met  by  the  rows  of  pearls  that  hung  around  her  throat, 
her  quaint  Venetian  cap  with  the  white  veil  flowing  from 
beneath  it  like  a  mantilla,  was  also  thickly  sewn  with 
pearls.  She  was  very  fair  that  evening,  and  the  young 
face,  vacant,  expressionless,  cold,  with  chiselled  features, 
caught  Louis's  eye.  Some  wondering  thought  or  remem- 
brance, as  Stephen  said,  "  My  daughter,"  lay  at  the  back 
of  his  mind.  Her  eyes  were  almost  on  a  level  with  his 
own,  he  questioned  them,  and  the  indifferent  glance  trans- 
fixed his  own  definitely. 

"  Your  costumes  go  well  together,"  said  Stephen  mis- 
chievously. "Beatrice  and  Benedict,  are  they  not?" 
Stephen  had  a  very  school-boy  humour  at  times,  and, 
although  he  did  not  like  Louis  Althaus,  he  thought  it 
would  do  Aline  no  harm  to  talk  with  him  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  it  would  be  something  to  tease  Con  about  when 
she  got  well.  It  would  serve  to  show  her  she  must  not 
relegate  the  duties  of  chaperon  to  him. 

"  I  am  representing  an  Italian  lady  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  not  Beatrice,"  Aline  answered  indifferently,  as 
if  she  were  saying  a  lesson. 

"  Dante's  '  Beatrice,'  perhaps,"  said  Louis,  in  that  soft 
voice  of  his,  and  then,  lower  still,  the  Beatrice  with  the 
"  sweetest  eyes  were  ever  seen."  When  those  eyes  turned 
on  him  he  held  them  until  they  wandered.  No  woman 
should  look  upon  him  indifferently.  "  Sweetest  eyes  were 
ever  seen,"  he  repeated ;  "  poor  Beatrice — she  had  suf- 
fered too,"  he  murmured,  as  the  Marquis,  in  crusader  cos- 
tume, claimed  Stephen's  ear.  For  now  he  began  to 
remember. 

"  This  gay  scene,  this  laughing  crowd  is  incongruous 
to  you,  is  it  not  ?  May  I  have  a  dance  ?" 

Aline,  with  her  secret  locked  in  her  breast,  shut  in  by 
her  reserve,  and  silent,  looked  up,  suddenly  startled,  and 
then  away  again.  He  meant  nothing,  he  could  mean 
nothing — and  yet.  She  looked  hesitatingly  at  her  father ; 
the  Under-Secretary  of  State  was  talking  eagerly.  Louis 
went  on  murmuring  in  his  low  tones,  and  now,  at  least, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  203 

he  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  had  secured  her 
attention. 

"  Looking  around  us  at  a  Catherine,  an  Imogen,  a  Mary 
of  Scotland — all  these  beautiful  modern  women  imper- 
sonating all  those  martyrs  of  sex — is  it  not  odd  to  think 
that,  perhaps,  locked  in  the  breasts  of  many  of  them  are 
stories,  modern  romances,  some,  maybe,  sadder,  stranger, 
at  least,  than  the  old  ones  ?" 

"Who  was  Catherine?  Why  do  you  ask  me?"  The 
questions  rose  involuntarily  to  her  pale  lips.  He  offered 
her  his  arm. 

'  They  are  forming  for  the  minuet — allow  me?" 

With  a  hesitating  look  at  Stephen,  who  was  too  ab- 
sorbed to  notice  it,  she  went  agitatedly  with  Louis. 

The  girl  was  of  that  unequalled  type,  completely  Eng- 
lish, fair  of  complexion,  with  golden-brown  hair,  eyes 
that  had  been  blue  in  childhood,  but  were  dark  now, 
under  long  lashes,  and  mouth  that  could  hold  a  secret 
though  it  let  out  one,  with  its  short,  upper  lip,  and  full 
lower  one,  both  softly  scarlet.  Louis  Althaus's  heart  did 
not  beat  faster  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  but  he 
racked  his  brain  to  remember.  Here,  on  his  arm,  by  his 
side,  was  something  Karl  had  told  him,  something  that 
might  be  necessary,  useful,  vital  to  them.  Some  secret 
was  enclosed  in  that  cold,  high-bred  figure,  in  that  fair 
head  with  its  quaint  head-dress  of  velvet  and  pearls.  It 
was  his  luck,  he  felt  exultantly  that  it  was  his  luck,  to 
have  been  introduced  to  her,  that  this  was  another  of 
Karl's  cards  on  the  table  for  him  to  play  with.  Whether 
he  was  to  be  in  partnership  with,  or  antagonistic  to,  his 
brother,  it  was  as  well  to  have  the  trumps  in  his  own 
hand.  He  wished  he  could  remember  exactly  what  Karl 
had  told  him  about  this  girl.  Never  mind,  she  should 
tell  him  herself.  He  looked  at  her  as  he  led  her  through 
the  strange  company.  He  must  make  her  tell  him  herself ; 
he  had  no  doubt  of  success.  When  had  he  failed  with  a 
woman?  And  this  was  a  charming  vestal.  She  looked 
like  a  Madonna,  surely  he  remembered  she  had  been  a 


204-  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

naughty  Madonna,  yet  the  lamp  that  lit  the  holy  of  holies 
was  in  her  hand.  She  should  guide  him  where  he  chose ; 
nobody  should  shut  their  doors  against  Louis  Althaus, 
there  was  no  reason  in  it.  He  really  thought  there  was 
no  reason  why  any  one  should  shut  doors  against  him. 
They  watched  the  minuet  together,  her  hand  resting 
lightly  on  his  coat-sleeve. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  me  about  these  women  all  having 
stories?"  she  asked  him  abruptly.  She  had  not  been 
watching,  she  had  only  been  trying  to  think. 

How  easy  women  are !  His  thin  lips  smiled  under  his 
moustache;  he  drew  his  arm  closer  to  his  side,  as  if  he 
would  have  pressed  her  hand  against  it. 

M  Do  you  think  they  have?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  why  should  I  know  ?" 

"  How  well  you  women  keep  your  secrets !" 

"  What  secrets  ?  I  haven't  got  any  secrets,"  she  stam- 
mered; then  she  drew  herself  up,  cloaked  herself  in  her 
coldness,  and  copied  Constantia's  voice.  "  Will  you  take 
me  back  to  my  father,  please?" 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  take  you  back  to  your  father.  I  want 
to  know  something;  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something. 
Are  you  frightened  of  me  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  go  away 
because  I  know  you  have — have  had  a  secret  ?" 

The  colour  flushed  painfully  in  her  cheek,  went  down 
again,  and  left  it  pale. 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  know  what  you  mean."  She 
was  trembling,  and  all  the  maturity  had  gone  from  her 
face  and  expression,  which  were  piteous  now  and  child- 
like. 

He  drew  her  a  little  out  of  the  crowd. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  very  sorry."  The  little  burr  on  his 
"  r's"  softened  all  the  sentence,  and  his  voice  was  full  of 
tender  solicitude.  "  I  have  distressed,  upset  you.  You 
are  faint ;  the  heat,  too — lean  on  my  arm ;  the  conserva- 
tory is  just  at  the  side.  We  can  sit  down  there  and  talk. 
You  shall  not  be  sorry,  I  promise  you  shall  not  be  sorry 
that  I  know." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  205 

It  was  a  child's  face  she  turned  on  him,  not  a  woman's 
—a  frightened  child's ;  he  was  exultant  at  the  success  of 
his  move. 

"  Good  heavens !  if  I  could  only  remember  what  it  was 
Karl  told  me,"  was  in  his  mind,  as  he  piloted  her  through 
the  crowd  to  where  a  green  forest  of  palms  made  dusk 
and  solitude  about  them ;  that  Karl  had  told  him  nothing 
made  the  reminiscence  difficult! 

"  Who — who  told  you  ?"  She  clutched  at  his  hand ;  she 
was  nothing  but  a  distressed  child.  He  held  her  hand  and 
soothed  her. 

"  What  does  it  matter  who  told  me  ?  What  does  it 
matter  how  I  know  ?  Don't  look  like  that.  Sit  down  here 
by  me.  Shall  I  get  you  a  glass  of  water  ?" 

"  No,  no,  stay  with  me,  tell  me."  She  was  almost  in 
tears.  He  patted  her  hand,  caressed  her,  and  soothed  her 
with  voice  and  touch,  and  her  hand  clung  to  his. 

"  For  two  years,  two  whole  years,  nobody  has  spoken 
to  me  about  it.  He  is  dead,  you  know;  you  are  not 
going  to  tell  me  he  isn't  dead !  I  can't  bear  it — I  won't 
bear  it — I  won't  go  back  to  him — he  has  sent  you  ?" 

"  Nobody  has  sent  me." 

"  What  does  he  want — what  must  I  do?"  She  wrung 
her  hands.  "  Oh !  I  am  frightened ;  take  me  back  to  my 
father.  I  want  to  go  home,  I  want  to  be  with  Aunt  Con." 

Louis  was  amazed.  The  cold  and  stately  Beatrice  was 
like  a  baby  crying  before  it  was  hurt.  He  understood 
women,  but  children  were  strange  to  him. 

"  Who  told  you  ?  Oh !  who  told  you  ?  Aunt  Con  told 
me  nobody  knew,  or  would  ever  know." 

"  Nobody  has  told  me ;  don't  be  silly.  Nobody  is  going 
to  hurt  you.  I  know  everything,  but  I'm  not  going  to  do 
you  any  harm.  Only  you  must  do  as  I  tell  you." 

"  I  always  do  what  people  tell  me,"  she  answered  for- 
lornly. 

In  another  five  minutes  he  had  begun  to  understand — 
to  understand  what  no  one  in  the  world  about  her  under- 
stood, what  even  Constantia  shut  away  from  her  knowl- 


206  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

edge,  and  Stephen  had  no  time  more  than  to  suspect. 
Locked  up  in  speechlessness,  under  that  conventional 
mask  in  which  they  had  encased  her,  was  only  the  out- 
raged child  whose  mental  growth  had  stopped.  Fair  and 
stately  as  she  looked,  with  that  young  patrician  air  and 
proud  demeanour,  she  was  empty  of  spontaneity,  or  con- 
scious volition,  she  always  did  what  she  was  told;  that 
was  the  pathetic  keynote  of  her  attenuated  will. 

Louis's  wonderful  eyes  got  behind  the  mask.  At  first 
she  shivered  and  cried  in  the  nakedness  of  her  soul  before 
him,  the  poor  conventional  garments  slipped  so  easily  from 
her  trembling  fingers.  But  soon  there  was  some  fearful 
pleasure  in  it;  his  words  were  so  gentle.  Then,  in  the 
green  solitude  of  the  palms  he  was  kind  to  her.  He  had 
even  kissed  her,  they  were  not  a  kissing  family,  the  Hay- 
wards,  she  clung  to  him  and  kissed  him  in  return,  and 
promised  thenceforth  she  would  do  only  what  he  told 
her.  It  did  not  seem  worth  Louis's  while  to  investigate 
very  closely  the  nature  of  the  secret  she  held.  There  is 
only  one  secret  between  a  girl  and  a  man,  Louis  thought. 

"You  are  happier  now,  dear?"  he  asked  her  gently, 
"  now  that  you  have  some  one  you  can  talk  to  about  it/' 
Indeed  she  felt  warmer,  happier,  but  she  wanted  him  to 
stay  with  her,  to  kiss  her  again.  With  tact  he  garmented 
her  soul  for  her  again,  and  when  he  led  her  forth  she 
was  clothed  conventionally  as  usual,  with  her  head  erect 
and  her  lips  almost  firm. 

He  led  her  back  to  her  father,  then  he  sought  a  mo- 
ment's solitude  in  the  crowd.  His  thoughts  were  wander- 
ing, his  success  exhilarated  him.  He  appeared  to  have 
unlimited  knowledge,  power,  strength;  his  vanity  fed 
voluptuously  on  his  powers.  He  did  not  arrange  his 
thoughts  sequently.  But,  it  seemed  to  him,  he  had  all  that 
Karl  had  wanted — Joan  de  Groot,  a  lever  with  Stephen 
Hayward,  the  Geldenrief,  everything.  He  had  never 
doubted  his  own  cleverness,  now  he  was  half  intoxicated 
by  it.  He  thought  kindly  of  Mrs.  Rex,  of  Joan,  of  all 
women.  Only  of  Lady  Violet  Alncaster,  to  whom  he 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  207 

owed  his  presence  in  this  throng  of  princes  and  nobles,  he 
never  thought  at  all ! 

Lady  Violet  was  not  used  to  being  forgotten,  ignored. 
She  had  sought  him  everywhere ;  at  last  she  had  seen  him 
emerge  from  the  conservatory  with  Aline. 

"  How  now,  my  Lord  Benedict,  hast  been  with  Hero  ?" 
she  said,  stopping  before  him  and  addressing  him. 

Louis  bowed  low  before  her. 

"  Will  your  Grace  command  me  any  service  to  the 
•world's  end?"  He  had  studied  his  part,  learnt  portions 
of  it  by  heart,  to  impress  the  forgotten  sender  of  the 
ticket. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,"  he  went  on 
glibly. 

"  In  the  conservatory  with  Aline  Hayward  ?"  she  re- 
torted shrewishy. 

"  Oh  God !  here  is  a  dish  I  love  not.  I  cannot  endure 
my  Lady  Tongue."  Lady  Violet  flushed  furiously. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  the  quotation  came  too  trippingly. 
Forgive  me.  Mr.  Hayward  left  me  with  his  daughter, 
and  she  was  faint,  unwell;  I  remained  with  her  until 
now." 

"  A  brilliant  companion  for  you !" 

"  Is  she  ?    I  was  not  interested." 

She  believed  him,  but  his  defection  had  chilled  her 
feeling  for  him.  In  truth,  it  was  flattered  vanity  rather 
than  feeling.  Lord  Dolly  had  called  Louis  a  veneered  cad 
,in  a  gilded  frame ;  John,  her  cousin,  had  said  he  was  no 
more  like  a  gentleman  than  an  oleograph  was  like  an 
oil-painting.  Everybody  had  been  surprised  at  seeing  him 
here,  and  many  had  commented  upon  it.  Violet  felt  that 
she  must  have  fought  well  for  him  to  have  got  him  an 
invitation.  That  he  was  not  humble  at  her  feet  had  ex- 
asperated her.  Many  things  had  combined  to  put  her  in 
a  quarrelsome  mood.  She  had  danced  the  minuet  with 
Lord  John,  but  John  had  asked  where  was  Aline;  and 
Lord  Legoux,  of  whose  future  connection  with  herself, 
notwithstanding  her  flirtation  with  Louis,  she  had  little 


208  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

doubt,  had  stumbled  into  the  house  early  in  the  evening 
in  a  state  that  necessitated  his  sequestration  for  repairs. 
John  had  told  her  this,  the  self-satisfied  and  remarkable 
Lord  John,  who,  as  the  family  had  recently  decided,  was 
to  marry  poor  Angela's  daughter. 

Now  that  she  had  found  Louis,  somehow  or  other, 
whether  it  was  because  of  what  people  had  said,  or  of 
what  she  herself  had  noted,  or  whether  it  was  owing  to 
that  unlucky  quotation,  she  too  found  him  oleographic, 
she  discovered  suddenly  that  his  charm  had  gone  from 
him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  not  quite  himself,  he 
was  rather  excited  and  more  natural,  more  the  genuine 
Louis,  than  usual.  He  was  careless  with  her,  as  Louis 
,was  apt  to  be  careless  with  what  he  thought  he  had 
secured. 

Of  course  he  bent  his  graceful  head,  and  looked  un- 
utterable things,  and  paid  her  compliments,  but  his 
thoughts  were  not  with  her.  These  two  had  not  begun 
where  they  had  left  off.  Very  soon  they  ceased  even 
pretending;  Louis  forgot  his  role,  wandered  a  little, 
talked  of  the  people,  the  costumes,  the  scene,  generalities. 
Lady  Violet  was  bored  by  him.  Yet  nobody  came  up  to 
separate  them,  for  Louis  had  few  acquaintances  there,  and 
Lady  Violet  few  friends  anywhere.  So  they  were  left 
to  each  other.  This  embittered  her,  and  none  of  her  ac- 
quaintances, and  few  of  her  relations,  escaped  the  vitriol 
lap  of  her  tongue.  Scandal  was  a  poor  feast,  but  it  was 
better  than  going  away  empty;  and  Louis  blundered, 
perhaps  because  it  was  inevitable  he  should  blunder  some- 
times, perhaps  only  because  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere, 
'and  his  tact  failed  him. 

There  are  many  things  that  all  men  know,  and  no  gen- 
tlemen say.  Louis  Althaus  said  them. 

"  Lady  Coromandel  as  a  Carmelite  nun !"  ejaculated 
Violet,  as  they  stood  to  review  the  pageant.  "  It  only 
wants  Lord  Killrowen  as  monk  to  make  the  picture 
perfect." 

"  Is  that  so?    I  thought  I  saw  them  together  the  other 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  209 

day,  in  a  strange  part  of  the  world  too."  He  had  been 
with  Joan ;  poor  little  Joan,  he  found  himself  thinking  of 
her  constantly  to-night,  notwithstanding  how  badly  she 
had  behaved  to  him.  "  Supping  together  in  a  private 
room  in  an  obscure  restaurant.  I  met  them  coming  down 
the  stairs.  Pretty  risky,  wasn't  it?" 

Lady  Violet  rather  curdled  up  at  that.  It  is  one  thing 
to  talk  scandal  about  your  friends,  quite  another  to  have 
details  thrust  under  your  nose.  It  made  her  quiet,  and 
her  fancy,  it  was  never  anything  more,  for  Louis  Althaus, 
became  suddenly  something  of  which  she  was  now 
ashamed.  Nevertheless  she  went  on  with  her  flippant 
talk. 

"  Wonderful  diamonds  Kitty  Stephens  is  wearing." 

''  Yes,  I  heard  some  fellows  talking  about  them  at  the 
Club  the  other  night.  Bischopschwein  is  a  millionaire." 

"  Oh,  there  is  nothing  in  that,"  she  said  hastily. 

"  Well,  perhaps  not,  but  personally,  although  I  do 
believe  in  platonic  love,  I  don't  believe  in  platonic  jew- 
ellery. The  Duchess  now,"  as  their  hostess  came  within 
their  view,  "  had  the  discretion  to  be  poor,  and  even  in 
debt,  until  her  husband  died." 

Then  Lady  Violet  thought  Lord  Algy  had  been  right ; 
the  man  was  a  cad,  and  she  never  wanted  to  see  him 
again.  It  was  unfortunate  that  Louis  saw  no  change  in 
her  sentiment  towards  him,  and  put  down  to  pique  or 
jealousy  her  abrupt  dismissal.  For  he  might,  it  is  pos- 
sible, though  not  probable,  that  even  then  he  might  have 
repaired  his  blunders,  or  smoothed  or  glossed  over  their 
effect.  But  he  noticed  nothing  except  that  she  had  been 
annoyed  at  his  inattention ;  which  was  unfortunate,  for 
there  came  a  time  when  her  distaste  for  him  precipitated 
a  crisis. 

His  mental  attitude  changed  when  he  was  again  with 
'Aline.  Even  whilst  he  had  been  talking  with  Violet  his 
thoughts  had  been  occupied  with  Aline,  wondering  how 
he  should  contrive  to  set  her  at  ease  with  him,  establish 
something  in  the  nature  of  confidential  relations.  The 

14 


210  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

difficulties  in  his  way,  difficulties  he  in  no  way  under- 
rated, made  him  eager  for  success.  The  girl  was  half 
frightened  of  him ;  he  saw  that  when  he  claimed  her  for 
supper  from  her  surprised  cousin,  the  heavy  sporting  son 
of  the  Marquis. 

"  You're  surely  not  goin'  to  supper  with  that  fellow  ?" 
said  Lord  John,  and  hurriedly  she  answered  that  she  was. 

"  Why,  what  will  Constantia  say  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  tone  was  dejected ;  Aline's  lips, 
usually  so  tightly  closed,  were  tremulous,  her  eyes  had 
more  expression  in  them  than  usual,  and  it  seemed  to 
John  that  she  was  unhappy  over  her  supper  engagement. 
He  had  no  time  for  more,  because  Louis,  hat  in  hand  and 
persistent,  was  bowing  before  them.  Aline  withdrew  her 
hand  from  Lord  John's  arm  and  walked  off  with  the 
charming  Benedict. 

"  I  can't  make  out  what  has  come  over  all  you  women," 
John  said  discontentedly  to  his  cousin  Violet  a  few  min- 
utes later,  when  he  had  emptied  his  tumbler  of  cham- 
pagne. "  You're  all  alike.  Here's  a  fellow  like  this 
Althaus,  not  one  of  us,  in  any  sense  of  the  word,  with  the 
manners  of  a  hairdresser,  and  the  bow  of  a  dancing 
master,  yet,  just  because  he's  got  a  pair  of  handsome  eyes, 
a  confounded  way  of  making  himself  at  home,  and  a  dis- 
gusting habit  of  quoting  poetry,  you  all  run  after  him 
like  a  flock  of  sheep.  First  you,  Violet,  who've  got  brains, 
though  you  are  such  a  shrew,  and  now  Aline,  who  really 
has  been  better  trained,  and  ought  to  know  a  bounder 
when  she  sees  one,  even  if  it's  only  by  force  of  contrast." 

"  By  comparing  him  with  her  brilliant  cousin  John," 
Violet  interpolated  mockingly.  "  Don't  grumble  about 
it.  Show  your  jealousy  another  way.  Cut  him  out; 
propose  to  Constantia  for  Aline's  hand,  in  correct  form 
to-morrow  morning,  and  make  a  clause  in  the  contract 
that  she  shall  not  be  allowed  to  speak  to  any  one  without 
the  express  permission  of  her  noble  husband  John,  the 
Autocrat." 

John  flushed  a  little  under  his  thick  skin,  and  a  little 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

flicker  of  resentment  showed  itself  in  his  dull  eyes.  He 
had  already  proposed  for  Aline,  and  Violet  knew  it.  His 
father's  wishes,  Aline's  coldness,  her  difference  from 
other  flippant  maidens  like  the  one  by  his  side,  had  per- 
suaded him  that  she  would  grace  his  future  position,  and 
he  had  made  his  formal  proposal  at  the  end  of  her  first 
season.  But  the  thought  of  marriage  was  horrible  to 
Aline,  difficult  even  to  Constantia  and  Stephen.  Her 
story  would  have  to  be  told,  and  neither  John  nor  his 
father  might  accept  it  with  equanimity.  The  girl  had 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  refuse  the  proffered  honour ;  and 
she  was  still  so  young.  On  the  plea  of  her  youth  the 
elders  procrastinated,  delayed  their  answer,  asked  John 
to  refrain  from  pressing  the  question,  and  John,  the  phleg- 
matic, refrained.  He  was  not  ardent ;  he  was  in  no  hurry. 
He  had  thrown  the  handkerchief,  the  result  was  in  no 
doubt.  How  could  they,  or  anybody,  do  better,  or  as 
well?  He  was  even  satisfied,  secretly  gratified  at  the 
correctness  of  demeanour  of  his  proposed  bride,  the  re- 
luctance of  her  maidenhood,  it  all  fitted  in  with  his  prig- 
gism,  but  it  soiled  her  to  put  the  tips  of  her  fingers  on 
Louis  Althaus's  coat.  He  grumbled  to  Violet,  whom, 
years  ago,  when  she  was  straight  from  the  school-room, 
fresh  and  bright,  he  had  had  some  dim  intention  of  train- 
ing for  the  same  position  to  which  he  now  destined  Aline. 
It  was  in  pursuance  of  that  abandoned  intention  he  had 
assumed  the  post  of  mentor  over  her,  lectured  her  on  the 
enormity  of  speaking  flippantly  to  her  mother,  of  talking 
about  things  that  she  ought  not  to  know,  of  smoking 
cigarettes,  of  the  hundred  and  one  little  freaks  that  so 
speedily  developed  when  she  had  emerged  from  the  chrys- 
alis stage.  They  had  desperate  quarrels,  and  it  was  after 
one  of  these  that  he  decided  she  was  not  the  wife  for  him  ; 
he  made  this  announcement  to  her  and  she  laughed  at 
him  and  called  him  a  prig,  her  lightness  shocked  him 
further,  her  conduct  irritated  him.  She  was  fast,  she 
flirted — Lord  John  retired  definitely,  and  Violet,  secretly 
piqued,  deteriorated,  and  grew  sharp-tongued,  as  we  have 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

seen  her.  A  sort  of  true  was  patched  up  between  them, 
however,  and,  though  they  never  met  without  dispute, 
they  sought  rather  than  avoided  the  opportunity  of  finding 
fault  with  each  other. 

"  Do  you  include  me  among  the  victims  to  Louis  Alt- 
haus's  fascinations?" 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  Louis  Althaus,  why  not  Mr. 
Althaus?" 

"  Why  not  Mr.  Althaus,  or  Herr  von  Althaus  ?"  she 
repeated  mockingly ;  "  simply,  my  dear  coz,  because  he 
likes  to  be  called  Louis  Althaus,  or  Louis " 

"  Pish,  you  can't  make  me  believe  you  call  the  fellow 
by  his  Christian  name." 

"  There's  a  brother  Karl ;  they  generally  speak  of  them 
as  Karl  Althaus,  or  Louis  Althaus,  to  distinguish.  That 
is  really  why." 

She  was  grateful  that  he  did  not  believe  she  called  him 
"  Louis,"  and  threw  him  the  explanation  in  acknowledg- 
ment. 

"  You  needn't  be  frightened  about  Aline ;  she's  not 
Con's  pupil  for  nothing,  she'll  be  ashamed  of  herself 
to-morrow  for  having  been  unable  to  avoid  speaking  to 
him,  and  Con  will  rub  it  in.  It  looks  like  one  of  Uncle 
Stephen's  tricks, — just  to  get  a  rise  out  of  Constantia  by 
telling  her  what  happens  when  she  leaves  him  to  do  the 
work  of  chaperon.  You  know  he  hates  it." 

"Why  isn't  Aunt  Con  here?" 

"  A  sudden  attack  of  '  flue.'  In  the  ordinary  way  Aline 
would  have  had  to  stop  at  home,  but,  with  the  Duchess, 
you  know,"  she  mocked  Constantia's  prim  speech,  "  whose 
aims  are  the  same  as  my  own,  my  dear  niece  will 
be  safe  not  to  meet  any  discordant  element  under  her 
roof." 

"And  how  is  it  that  she  isn't  safe — how  came  the 
fellow  here?" 

Violet  looked  at  him.  Inclined  to  be  stout,  not  quite  up 
to  the  middle  height,  with  heavy  brow,  and  outdoor  com- 
plexion, he  nevertheless  represented  the  romance  of  her 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  213 

youth.  She  always  wanted  the  good  opinion  she  always 
forfeited. 

"  I  suppose  that  he  or  some  of  his  people  have  backed 
bills,  or  lent  money,  or  whatever  it  is  they  do,  for  Lord 
Legoux,  and  this  is  his  mother's  way  of  showing  grati- 
tude," she  answered  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  then 
glanced  down  again  at  her  plate,  and  went  on  dissecting 
her  quail,  and  relieving  it  of  the  unnecessary  aspic. 

"  If  you're  going  to  marry  Legoux,  why  don't  you  do 
it,  and  pay  these  things  for  him,  and  keep  him  straight  ?" 
John  was  growling;  it  was  horribly  distasteful  to  speak 
of  these  disgraceful  transactions,  and  to  think  of  Aline 
knowing  them.  John  would  have  tried  to  keep  all  his 
women-kind  in  Eastern  seclusion,  behind  bars.  And 
Violet,  though  she  gave  him  a  look  that  some  men  might 
have  understood,  did  not  tell  him  -why  she  did  not  dower 
Lord  Legoux  with  her  fortune,  or  why  she  had  procras- 
tinated with  her  fate  until  his  was  decided. 

Meanwhile,  Louis  had  sought  Aline  again,  had  mur- 
mured in  her  ear,  had  sufficiently  engaged  her  attention, 
and  now  was  supping  with  her.  He  found  however  that 
he  had  not,  after  all,  produced  quite  the  effect  on  Aline 
that  he  had  intended.  He  could  read  again  reluctance, 
fear  in  her  face,  but  he  could  read  also  a  desire  to  be  with 
him,  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  to  know  what  he 
would  do. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 


WHEN  Louis  got  home,  rather  excited,  exultant,  his 
half-formed  plans,  and  the  assistance  he  would  force  from 
Stephen  Hayward's  daughter,  caught  fast  in  the  meshes 
of  his  vanity,  he  found  Joan's  delayed  letter. 

"  Louis,  my  Louis,  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  You 
haven't  left  me  for  ever  ?  you  could  not  be  so  cruel,  could 
you,  dear?  I  have  been  wrong  to  doubt,  to  torture  my- 
self, and  hurt  the  child  perhaps.  But,  if  I  am  wrong,  if 
you  did  mean — Oh,  Louis,  I  am  crying  to  you.  Help  me ! 
Once  you  loved  me, — you  loved  my  weakness  better  than 
my  strength;  there  is  nothing  but  weakness  left.  Help 
me  through  these  few  months  to  come,  I  cannot  bear  them 
else.  I  am  frightened — don't  despise  me  for  being  fright- 
ened. I  am  so  alone — no  woman  has  ever  been  so  alone 
and  at  such  a  time.  /  fear,  I  fear,  I  fear.  Oh,  Louis,  be 
kind  to  me  just  a  little  while,  whatever  you  mean.  I  am 
not  afraid  of  the  pain  or  of  death.  I  wish  I  were  dead,  if 
indeed  I  have  lost  you.  I  am  ill,  ungainly,  ugly,  and  you 
are  you,  my  love,  so  beautiful.  How  can  I  hope  to  keep 
you  ?  But  I  am  starving  for  the  sound  of  your  voice,  the 
touch  of  your  hand.  Pity  me!  If  you  have  left  off 
loving  me,  don't  let  me  know  it  for  these  few  months  at 
least.  I  am  half  mad  with  loneliness  and  terror.  If  I 
were  not  mad  I  could  not  write,  for  you  have  left  me 
alone  during  these  awful  days  and  nights,  and  for  nothing. 
Oh,  my  lover,  how  could  you  do  it  ?  Is  it  because  I  have 
nothing  left  to  give  or  offer?  My  brain  is  dull,  my  body 
distorted ;  like  a  beggar,  then,  I  will  ask  alms  of  you,  a 
little  care,  forgiveness,  if  I  need  it,  some  strength  of 
yours  to  lean  on  now  that  I  am  all  weakness.  You  would 
not  refuse  a  beggar  alms,  none  of  you  ever  do ;  throw  me 
214 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  215 

a  word.  How  often  I  feel  for  you  in  the  darkness  and 
the  emptiness — always.  Did  you  mean  six  months  when 
you  said  '  For  Ever'  ?  Was  I  the  fool  who  did  not  know 
the  game  you  played,  the  language  you  spoke?  But,  if 
indeed  this  be  so,  for  God's  sake,  for  the  child's  sake,  let 
it  mean  another  three.  Forgive  me,  I  am  wronging  you 
— you  only  meant  to  punish  me  for  not  telling  you  every- 
thing I  did.  You  did  not  mean  to  leave  me — it  is  only 
your  way,  your  strange  way  of  loving.  Hope  is  coming 
back  to  me  as  I  write,  your  beautiful  eyes  will  read,  will 
grow  soft,  my  love — forgive  me,  love  me.  I  can't  argue 
with  you ;  you  are  right  always,  whatever  you  do,  what- 
ever you  say." 

Success  had  made  him  soft.  These  dear  women,  poor 
things !  It  was  two  in  the  morning ;  his  eye  wandered 
doubtfully  to  the  clock  and  the  looking-glass  behind  it. 
How  Joan  would  love  to  see  him  in  his  Benedict  clothes ; 
it  was  a  pitiful  letter.  His  brougham  was  still  at  the 
door.  James  had  waited  to  hear  the  orders  for  to-morrow. 
Should  he  ?  He  hesitated — poor  Joan ! 

And  he  knew  now  the  will  was  all  right. 

He  had  his  key,  he  knew  the  door  would  be  on  the  latch. 
She  felt  for  him,  poor  little  woman !  and  his  place  was 
empty  always;  it  was  pathetic.  She  would  love  to  see 
him  in  his  fancy  dress ;  and  he  was  too  excited  to  sleep, 
the  music  was  still  in  his  ears.  He  went  into  the  bedroom, 
brushed  up  his  moustache,  settled  his  hair,  adjusted  his 
knee-buckles. 

Rolling  through  the  silent  streets  in  the  brougham  with 
its  rubber-tyred  wheels,  he  thought  kindly  of  himself. 
How  easily  he  was  moved,  how  quickly,  after  all,  he 
forgave,  although  it  was  against  his  principles.  The  very 
moment  she  wrote  to  him  he  went  to  her,  though  it  was 
three  in  the  morning,  and  he  was  in  fancy  costume.  He 
had  not  even  stopped  to  change  his  dress.  She  would 
appreciate  that;  she  would  be  grateful  for  that.  When 
he  put  his  latch-key  into  the  door,  quietly  as  he  did  it,  a 
blind  was  lifted,  a  face  looked  out — a  hundred  times 


216  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

every  night,  a  thousand  times  every  day,  that  face  had 
looked  out  He  smiled  up  at  her. 

Her  eyes  were  sunken,  her  face  was  lined  and  seamed, 
she  trembled  and  shook  in  his  arms.  And  but  a  few 
months  since  she  had  been  such  a  bright,  sweet  woman. 
Even  Louis  was  moved  by  her  aspect.  It  was  pitiful  to 
see  the  efforts  she  made  to  recover  herself.  She'  had 
been  awake  so  many  nights,  her  nerve  was  broken,  a 
month  of  solitary  confinement  would  shake  the  nerves  of 
a  strong  man,  and  she  was  a  weak  woman  and  ill.  But 
soon  she  made  the  effort  to  pull  herself  together,  to  meet 
any  mood  in  which  he  had  come  to  her.  How  clearly  she 
had  begun  to  see  him;  it  was  for  praise  he  had  come, 
for  admiration.  She  wanted  to  satisfy  him,  to  keep  him 
from  arguing;  she  knew  that  whatever  he  had  come  for 
she  must  give  him.  Above,  below,  around,  in  all  the 
world  for  her  just  now  there  was  nothing  but  this  man. 
Mentally  and  physically  she  was  weak,  she  groped  in 
blindness,  tottered;  there  was  nothing  but  him  to  hold 
on  to — a  figure  that  dodged  her,  drew  away  from  her 
clinging  hands,  thrust  her  into  deep  water  wherein  she 
drowned,  whilst  he  looked  on  for  the  safety  of  his  raft, 
his  substantial  selfishness.  But  just  now,  in  the  darkest 
moment,  when  the  sea  of  sickness  and  loneliness  had 
broken  over  her  and  nearly  overwhelmed  her,  when  the 
sky  was  black  and  the  sun  and  moon  hidden,  he  had  come. 
Of  course,  again  she  held  out  clinging  hands,  answered 
his  demands,  yielded  under  torture. 

"That's  right;  pull  yourself  together.  After  all  it's 
not  such  an  immense  time  since  I  was  here,  and  you  know 
you  ought  not  to  have  written " 

"  Don't— don't " 

"  I  won't,  we  won't  discuss  it,  not  now.  What  do  you 
think  of  my  fancy  dress  ?  I  knew  you  would  like  to  have 
a  look  at  it.  You  feel  better  now,  don't  you  ?  I  meant  to 
have  my  photograph  taken  to-morrow  for  you,  but  the 
reality  is  better  than  the  photograph,  isn't  it?"  He  gave 
her  another  light  caress,  went  over  to  the  looking-glass, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  217 

pulled  down  his  doublet.  "  The  tights  fit  well,  don't  they  ? 
I  have  a  woollen  pair  underneath ;  it's  a  tip  I  learnt  from 
an  actor.  Well,  are  you  satisfied  with  me  ?  Eh  ?" 

"  Nobody  in  the  room  could  have  looked  like  you." 
She  was  regaining  her  balance;  her  eyes  began  to  focus 
him.  How  handsome  he  was  in  the  short  doublet,  all 
slashed  and  richly  broidered ;  his  head  rose  from  the  ruff 
in  splendid  strength  and  vigour,  his  face  was  a  little  pale 
from  fatigue,  but  the  dark  eyes  were  brilliant,  he  smiled 
on  her,  or  on  the  reflection  he  saw. 

"  I  dare  say  you  wouldn't  have  been  the  only  one  to 
say  that,"  he  said,  smiling  in  pleasant  remembrance. 
"  The  most  beautiful  girl  in  the  room,  the  daughter  of 
the  Honourable  Stephen  Hayward,  was  my  Beatrice;  I 
went  in  to  supper  with  her.  One  of  the  photographer 
fellows  who  were  there  told  me  I  wore  my  clothes  better 
than  any  of  the  men  he  had  taken." 

What  did  it  matter  to  Joan  what  he  said?  The  sound 
of  his  voice  was  enough ;  she  was  no  longer  alone.  His 
voice  was  in  the  room,  his  presence  filled  it.  He  talked 
for  half-an-hour  of  himself  and  of  the  ball,  talked  himself 
into  good-humour. 

Lying  by  his  side  later,  the  dawn  coming  greyly 
through  the  window,  she  tried  with  all  the  brain  that  was 
left,  to  show  him  her  anguish,  to  make  him  see  what  her 
pain  had  been.  It  was  not  that  she  had  any  real  hope  or 
belief  in  him ;  he  had  killed  all  that.  But  it  pleased  him 
*o-night  to  play  the  lover,  and  in  her  desperation  she  made 
her  appeal.  His  coming  like  this  had  satisfied  nothing, 
shown  her  nothing,  if  she  had  been  nearly  drowned  in  her 
loneliness,  she  was  still  wet  and  shivering,  almost  in 
despair  as  she  held  on  to  him.  Yes!  she  must  try  and 
make  him  understand. 

"  Louis !  You  are  very  good  to  me  to-night.  You  say 
you  still  love  me.  Perhaps  you  have  not  meant  to  be  so 
cruel;  but  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  ill,  and  not 
able  to  think,  and  to  be  alone  all  the  time." 

"  Well !  you  are  not  alone  now.    Go  to  sleep ;  haven't 


218  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

I  been  good  to  you  to-night  ?  What's  the  matter  with  you 
now,  anyway?"  He  was  sleepily  good-humoured. 

"  I  can't  sleep.  I  have  forgotten  how  to  sleep.  Louis, 
listen,  I  am  desperate.  Don't  go  away  to-morrow  and 
not  come  back.  I  don't  know  how  to  bear  it,  the  watch- 
ing for  you,  not  knowing  if  you  are  ever  coming,  not 
knowing  what  I  should  do;  all  the  day  I  watch,  and  all 
the  nights.  My  baby,  too,  Louis,  all  his  movements  are 
the  heaving  breaths  of  a  baby  that  has  been  crying  too 
long,  and  I  can't  soothe  it.  It  hurts  me  so  that  I  can't 
take  it  in  my  arms  and  soothe  it.  Oh,  Louis !  don't  make 
us  cry  all  the  time;  already  all  the  brightness  has  gone 
out  of  its  eyes,  its  breaths  are  convulsive.  Louis !  if  it 
should  die,  crying;  it  belongs  to  us!  Whenever  I  try 
to  think,  I  think  of  that — that  it  will  die  crying." 

"  Go  to  sleep  now — go  to  sleep  now,  there's  a  dear ; 
don't  nag.  You'll  feel  better  in  the  morning.  I  am  very 
tired;  this  is  the  third  night  this  week  I  have  danced 
after  midnight.  Let  me  go  to  sleep.  I  love  to  feel  so 
tired  and  to  go  to  sleep."  That  was  all  Louis  could  find 
to  say,  though  he  kept  his  arms  drowsily  about  her,  and 
felt  vaguely,  sleepily,  that  after  all  it  was  a  dear  little 
mistress  he  had  here. 

She  let  him  sleep  on ;  it  was  impossible  to  talk  to  him, 
impossible  to  make  him  understand.  But  here  he  was — 
and  he  had  loved  her,  he  was  here  beside  her,  her  awful 
solitude  gone.  She  listened  to  his  steady  breathing,  still 
he  was  "  like  myrrh  unto  her."  Presently  she  felt  calmer, 
safer,  left  off  trying  to  reason,  or  think.  At  last  she  too 
.slept. 

They  breakfasted  together. 

He  came  down  fresh,  debonair,  smiling,  he  had  let  her 
wait  on  him,  and  get  out  his  things,  he  declared  he  had 
not  missed  his  valet.  He  talked  all  through  the  breakfast- 
time,  of  himself  chiefly,  with  something  thrown  in  of  her 
failings  now  and  again  as  a  make-weight,  but  always 
with  the  air,  with  the  free  admission,  that  for  the  moment 
she  was  forgiven. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  819 

The  coffee  was  good,  the  bacon  and  eggs  were  not  con- 
spicuously bad,  and  he  had  that  wonderful  sense  of  self- 
satisfaction  that  made  him  feel  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 
He  had  made  Joan  happy,  poor  little  woman,  poor  dear 
little  woman.  It  really  was  good  of  him,  he  thought,  to 
have  come  straight  here  last  night;  no  one  could  say  he 
was  not  thoughtful  and  kind  and  forgiving,  even  gen- 
erous. Last  night  he  had  indeed  had  a  triumph,  a  veri- 
table triumph,  and  on  Saturday  he  would  see  Aline  again, 
but,  immediately  Joan  had  written  him  properly,  he  had 
come  to  her.  He  talked  about  the  ball  to  Joan,  he  told 
her  about  Lady  Violet  and  the  Duchess,  and,  when  he 
told  her  of  the  old  love  story,  and  of  the  Duke's  fidelity, 
her  eyes  glistened  and  his  own  met  them  sympathetically ; 
it  was  not  difficult  for  Louis  to  look  sympathetic. 

"  And  now  they  are  happy  ?  He  knew  she  gave  up 
everything  to  him.  He  loves  her  better  for  not  saving 
her  self-respect  at  his  expense?" 

It  was  a  wistful  question  that  she  put  to  him — she 
wanted  his  spoken  answer,  it  was  a  question  she  had  so 
often  asked  herself.  She  got  it  with  a  smile  to  illumine 
the  words.  "  Of  course,  of  course,  you  know  that." 

"  You've  told  me  so." 

"  And  isn't  that  enough  ?" 

She  smiled,  she  sighed  her  answer.  Looking  at  her 
tenderly,  he  thought  how  she  had  gone  off,  how  old  she 
looked,  with  wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  her  eyes;  he 
.thought  what  a  fool  a  man  must  be  who  marries  his  mis- 
tress, and  then  he  went  round  to  where  she  sat,  put  his 
arm  around  her,  and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  What  questions  you  ask ;  how  hard  you  are  to  sat- 
isfy," he  said. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  want  except  your 
love." 

"  And  didn't  last  night  tell  you  you  had  it?"  She  could 
not  explain  to  him  all  over  again  what  she  needed,  what 
she  missed.  She  must  take  her  punishment  bravely ;  she 
knew  now  something  of  what  she  had  done. 


220  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  I  suppose  I  am  very  exacting,"  she  said  mechanically. 

"  You  forget  what  calls  I  have  on  my  time ;  it  is  not 
only  business,  though  there  has  been  an  awful  rush  these 
past  few  days,  there's  hardly  a  moment  not  occupied. 
I'm  engaged  three  or  four  deep  every  night  this  week. 
Then  Saturday  there's  Ranelagh" — he  could  not  resist 
talking  about  it — "  I  dare  say  I  shall  drive  Stephen  Hay- 
ward  and  his  daughter  down." 
1  "  The  Beatrice  of  last  night?" 

"  Yes ;  I  am  rather  anxious  to  see  how  she  looks  in  the 
daytime — a  beautiful  girl  in  the  evening." 

"  Have  I  to  be  jealous  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile ;  but, 
strangely  enough,  that  pain  she  had  not  felt,  her  nature 
was  too  simple,  Louis's  love-making  was  too  recent;  to 
suspect  him  of  loving  another  would  have  been  impossible 
to  her. 

"You  need  never  be  jealous,"  he  answered  hastily. 
"  Have  I  not  told  you  there  had  never  been  a  woman  in 
my  life  until  I  met  you?  But  Karl  wants  me  to  get  in 
with  the  Hay  wards ;  it's  vital  to  the  cause  that  the  Hay- 
wards  should  be  in  it." 

"  I  know." 

"  Now,  come  and  sit  down  and  have  a  cosy  chat. 
There's  something  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about."  Could 
there  be  a  better  time,  a  better  occasion,  to  clinch  that  little 
matter  of  the  transference  of  the  farm? 

The  breakfast  things  cleared  away,  she  settled  herself 
in  her  favourite  position  on  a  stool  at  his  feet,  her  head 
resting  against  his  knees,  his  hand  caressing  her  hair. 
That  last  month  seemed  like  a  dream,  an  unhappy  night- 
mare. If  it  were  not  the  Louis  of  which  she  had  dreamed, 
it  was  a  dear  Louis,  nevertheless ;  and  one  who  loved  her 
in  his  own  way ! 

"  You  remember  when  we  last  spoke  ?" 

Did  she  remember ! 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  in  a  very  low  tone. 

"  It  was  about  your  husband " 

"  Don't  call  him  my  husband,"  she  whispered  hurriedly, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

for  now  her  breath  was  coming  very  quickly,  and  her 
heart  was  beating  fast.  For  hope  is  hard  to  kill,  and  for 
what  had  he  come?  He  went  on,  soothing  her  with  his 
hand. 

"  You  knew  he  was  ill." 

"  Yes — yes — you've  heard  ?" 

"  Hush,  hush !  I've  heard  little  or  nothing.  I  want  to 
put  a  case  to  you." 

"  My  dear,"  she  had  his  hand  against  her  lips,  "  say 
anything — tell  me  anything — Piet  is — is — go  on — "  He 
went  on,  not  missing  his  cue. 

"  Yes,  he  is  ill,  very  ill — Karl  writes  it  to  me ;  he  writes 
me  also  about  the  farm." 

"  Yes— go  on." 

"  Don't  be  impatient,"  he  chided  her  gently.  "  You 
would  like  to  do  something  for  me,  wouldn't  you?" 

"  Something,  my  lover,  my  sweetheart,  anything,  every- 
thing! But  what  can  I  do?  what?" 

"  Well,  it  is  possible,  it  is  just  possible,  if  De  Groot 
never  got  your  letter,  if — if,  in  short,  he  knows  nothing 
of  what  we  are  to  each  other " 

Her  head,  that  had  been  raised  in  question,  sank  again 
upon  his  knees.  What  we  are  to  each  other !  what  we  are 
to  each  other !  what  words !  and  Piet  ill,  perhaps  dying ! 
How  sweet  the  touch  of  him,  his  dear  hands,  one  she  had 
in  hers,  crushed  against  her  lips.  Louis  was  satisfied 
with  her  attitude ;  he  went  on : 

"  It's  just  possible,  I  say,  if  he  knows  nothing  of  what 
is  going  on,  that  he  will  remember  what  a  brute  he  was  to 
you " 

"  He  wasn't  a  brute  to  me ;  I  was  a  bad  wife  to  him. 
I  know  now,"  she  interposed  softly,  rubbing  his  hand  up 
and  down  against  her  cheek. 

"  Let  me  speak  for  once ;  don't  interrupt  me  every 
time  I  open  my  mouth.  I  say,  if  he  remembers  how  he 
behaved  to  you,  it  is  possible,  just  possible,  that  he  may 
try  to  make  amends  to  you  by  leaving  you  the  farm." 

At  that  she  left  off  her  caressing  movements  and  sat 


222  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

up.  "  He  settled  the  farm  on  me  when  we  were  married," 
she  said,  surprised. 

"Did  he?  Well,  I  want  you,  just  to  please  me,  and 
because  I  know  Karl  would  like  it — Karl  has  been  very 
good  to  me,  and  I  should  like  you  to  do  something  for 
him — to  sign  a  paper.  I  had  the  thing  drawn  up  some 
days  ago,  for  I  knew  you  would  never  say  '  no'  to  any- 
thing I  asked  you."  But  when  his  hand  sought  her  hair, 
she  had  shrunk  back  a  little,  and  was  gazing  at  him. 
"  A  paper,"  he  continued  easily,  "  saying  that  in  the  event 
of  the  farm  coming  to  you,  you  would  let  us  have  it,  let 
Karl  or  me  have  it,  on  certain  terms." 

He  drew  a  paper  from  his  note-case ;  but  she  had  risen 
to  her  feet,  and  was  standing  up,  watching  him,  startled, 
her  thoughts  bewildered. 

"  Here  is  the  paper,  it  gives  you  five  hundred  shares  in 
the  Geldenrief  mine,  five  hundred  fully  paid  shares ;  you 
will  be  quite  a  rich  woman,"  he  said,  banteringly,  running 
his  eyes  over  the  paper  he  had  opened.  "  You've  only  got 
to  put  your  name  here ;  we  can  call  up  the  slavey  to  wit- 
ness it.  Here,  where's  the  ink?  It's  a  wonderful  thing 
you  writing  women  never  do  seem  to  have  a  pen  and  ink 
handy!" 

"  I'm  not  a  writing  woman  any  more,  nor  a  thinking 
one,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand  to  her  forehead,  trying 
to  grasp  clearly  what  he  was  asking  of  her. 

"  Read  the  paper  to  me,  Louis,  read  it ;  I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"  You  need  not  bother  to  understand ;  you've  only  got 
to  sign  it." 

"  But  what  has  the  Geldenrief  mine  to  do  with  me  ? 
What  have  I  to  do  with  it?  Read  it  to  me." 

He  was  rather  proud  of  the  wording  of  that  paper ;  he 
had  drawn  it  up  himself.  It  had  a  legal-sounding  phrase- 
ology, was  full  of  "  whereas"  and  such  words  as  "  mes- 
suages, tenements  and  hereditament,"  of  "  provided  that" 
and  "  in  pursuance  with."  He  read  it  rather  slowly,  with 
emphasis  on  all  the  long  words,  his  rolling  "  r's"  length- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

ening  them.  When  he  had  finished  and  looked  up,  she 
was  smiling. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  paper,  Louis  ?  Some  one  has 
been  hoaxing  you ;  it's  a  burlesque,  it's  a  farrago  of  non- 
sense." 

The  lines  round  his  mouth  showed. 

"  Since  when  have  you  been  a  judge  of  law?  This  is 
a  legal  instrument." 

"  Don't  be  vexed,  dear.  My  mind  doesn't  work  as  it 
used.  I've  grown  stupid,  I  know;  but,  if  the  farm 
belongs  to  me,  and  comes  to  me  from  Piet,  how  can  I 
have  five  hundred  shares  in  the  mine  when  he  wouldn't 
even  let  your  brother  have  it  surveyed  for  gold  ?" 

She  was  irritating  him,  but  he  controlled  himself  for 
the  moment. 

"  Well,  say  it  is  a  farrago  of  nonsense,  say  there  is 
nothing  in  the  paper  at  all,  sign  it  all  the  same,  sign  it 
to  oblige  me." 

"  I  couldn't  do  that ;  you  see,  dear,  as  far  as  there  is 
any  sense  in  it  at  all,  it  binds  me  to  an  impossibility." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  an  impossibility  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  it  binds  me,  if  I  become  possessed  of 
Piet's  farm,  to  sell  it  for  the  very  purpose  he  most  dis- 
liked." 

"  But  would  it  be  his  wishes  you  would  want  to  carry 
out  or  mine?  Think  well  before  you  answer;  you  know 
I  don't  regard  these  things  lightly." 

.  His  mouth  was  hard,  his  narrow  chin  aggressive;  her 
heart  sank,  she  knew  him  in  this  mood.  She  answered 
gently,  so  gently  that  the  tone  almost  soothed  him. 

"  I  would  give  my  life  for  you ;  you  know  I  would 
give  my  life  for  you." 

He  came  over  to  her  and  put  his  arm  around  her,  the 
paper  still  in  his  hand. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  arguing  ?  '  Let's  contend  no 
more.'  Karl  wants  this  paper  signed ;  even  if  you  are 
right,  and  it  is  waste  paper,  it  can't  do  any  harm." 

She  responded  to  his  caress,  and  moved  closer  to  him. 


224  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  But  don't  you  see,  darling,  it  would  be  leaving  Karl 
under  a  wrong  impression,  making  him  think  that  when 
the  farm  came  to  me  he  would  have  it  for  his  own  pur- 
poses ?" 

"But  if  his  purpose  was  my  purpose?"  Louis  had 
hard  work  to  control  his  irritated  voice :  he  hated  to  have 
to  plead  to  her. 

"  If  it  was  your  purpose,  his  purpose,  my  own  purpose, 
it  would  make  no  difference.  If,  through  Piet  not  know- 
ing, not  having  had  my  letter,  he  should  still  have  left 
the  farm  to  me,  or  if  it,  nevertheless,  comes  to  me  under 
my  marriage  settlement,  I  would  not  take  it — I  could  not 
take  it.  You  know  I  could  not  rob  him,  because  he  was 
dead — because  he  did  not  know  what  I  had  done  before 
he  died.  You  would  not  let  me  do  it,  Louis" — she  ap- 
pealed to  him — "  you  would  not,  dear ;  say  you  would 
not  wish  that  I  took  anything  from  his  hand,  from  any 
hands  but  yours.  Those  five  hundred  shares  would  burn 
and  stain.  Darling — because  I  am  what  I  am — darling, 
you  would  not  have  me  do  that ;  say  you  would  not." 

"  Oh !  I  can't  argue  with  a  woman."  He  disengaged 
himself  from  her.  "  You're  all  wrong;  I  haven't  time  to 
argue  with  you.  If  you  can't  see  it  for  yourself,  it  is 
waste  of  breath  for  me  to  try  to  show  it  to  you.  You  own 
you  can't  think,  that  your  brain  doesn't  work,  then  why 
not  let  me  think  for  you?  To  whom  do  you  owe  any- 
thing— to  me  or  to  him  ?  Tell  me  that.  Don't  you  know 
I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  do  anything  against  your  own 
interests  ?" 

"  Surely  there  is  no  question  of  interest ;  it  is  one  of 
right  and  wrong." 

"  And  who  made  you  the  judge?"  he  asked  rudely. 

She  feared,  she  dreaded  the  scene  she  saw  impending. 

"  It's  always  the  same  when  I  tell  you  anything,  or  ask 
you  anything.  You  hold  your  tongue,  as  if  I  wasn't 
worth  arguing  with.  I  want  to  thrash  this  matter  out." 

"  To  thrash  this  matter  out"  meant  that  he  wanted  to 
say  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again.  Her  heart  sank, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  225 

trat  she  tried  to  convince  him.  She  followed  him  to  the 
window. 

"  I  told  James  to  be  here  at  eleven ;  it's  past  that,"  he 
said.  "  There's  no  good  my  wasting  my  time  here." 

"  Louis,  dear,"  she  said,  touching  his  arm  very  gently, 
"  I  want  to  argue,  I  want  to  try  and  explain  myself.  Will 
you  listen  ?  Don't  be  angry  with  me  before  I  begin,  don't 
make  up  your  mind  to  be  angry  with  me." 

"  Oh,  I'll  listen  right  enough.  Fire  away ;  but  you 
must  hurry  up,  for  I'm  due  in  the  city." 

"  Louis,  dear,  whether  this  paper  is  good  in  law  or  not, 
I  don't  know,  you  do ;  and  you  tell  me  it  provides  that  if 
I  ever  inherit  or  become  possessed  of  Piet's  farm,  I  under- 
take to  sell  it,  or  give  it  to  your  brother,  in  consideration 
of  five  hundred  shares  in  the  mine  he  proposes  opening 
there.  Is  that  right?" 

"  Quite  right." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  I  expressed  myself  badly  before,  and 
you  did  not  understand  what  I  meant." 

She  was  speaking  very  quietly  now ;  she  was  the  same 
Joan,  almost,  that  had  refused  to  share  in  any  of  Karl's 
schemes,  and  had  described  them  to  him  by  their  right 
name. 

"  We  will  say,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  this  possi- 
bility, this  remote  possibility,  comes  true,  that  Piet  is 
dead,  that  he  has  left  no  will,  or  one  made  in  ignorance, 
and  that  the  farm  has  become  mine  by  law.  Dearest,  if 
\  had  been  his  wife,  his  good  and  loyal  wife,  I  should 
have  kept  it ;  but,  even  then,  I  know,  I  do  know  I  should 
have  felt  myself  bound  to  carry  out  his  wishes  respecting 
it.  The  wishes  of  the  dead  are  sacred ;  their  very  power- 
lessness  to  enforce  them  makes  such  wishes  sacred.  I 
think  I  should  have  had  to  leave  the  farm  as  he  wished  it 
left — an  oasis  of  green  in  the  mining  country,  the  un- 
touched land  he  inherited  from  his  father,  which  his 
father's  father  found  and  reclaimed,  and  in  which  their 
graves  lie.  I  gave  him  no  son,  but  if  I  had  inherited  his 
land,  I  think,  as  long  as  I  lived,  I  must  have  kept  it  green 

15 


226  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

for  him.  But  now — now — as  it  is — Louis,  dear" — for  she 
saw  his  face  was  set,  and  knew  she  had  not  moved  him — 
"  I  could  take  nothing  from  Piet  for  myself,  who  have  so 
dishonoured  him ;  for  our  son,  who  must  never — oh,  my 
God!  if  he  should  ever  know  and  judge " 

"  Nobody  need  ever  know." 

"I  know,"  she  said,  in  a  lower  voice,  pausing;  then 
hurriedly  she  went  on :  "  If  now  by  a  quibble,  an  igno- 
rance, the  farm  should  lapse  to  me,  notwithstanding 
everything,  I  would  give  it  back  at  once,  immediately,  to 
the  next-of-kin,  to  the  Government,  to  anybody.  I  would 
not,  could  not,  gain  advantage  by  stealing  from  Piet  dead 
what  Piet  living  would  have  died  rather  than  give  me. 
Oh,  Louis !  I  am  hoping  so  hard  that  you  will  feel  as  I 
do;  and  my  words  are  so  poor.  Ever  since  I've  loved 
you  words  have  failed  me,  and  I  can't  find  a  quotation  to 
meet  this."  Her  lips  quivered ;  she  tried  to  force  through 
the  ghost  of  a  smile.  "  Won't  you  help  me  ?" 

He  tried,  he  really  tried,  to  follow  her;  for,  in  this 
contest  between  them,  it  was  essential  to  him  to  win,  and, 
by  following  her,  he  might  find  the  clue  that  would  lead 
him  to  victory.  But  it  was  difficult  to  him  to  grasp  what 
she  meant,  to  see  from  her  point  of  view.  Of  course,  her 
sense  of  honour  differed  from  his;  there  wasn't  a  drop 
of  good  blood  in  his  veins  to  help  him  to  read  her.  At 
last  he  gave  up  the  intellectual  effort,  and  used  instead 
his  easy  methods. 

"  You  may  be  right.  You  reason  as  a  woman  reasons, 
but  you  may  be  right." 

"  God  bless  you,  dear."  She  put  her  hand  out,  and  he 
caught  her  to  him.  "  You  would  have  seen  it  before,  but 
I  talked  so  badly.  I  am  ill,  overtired.  It  is  a  bad  time  for 
me  just  now,"  she  said,  leaning  against  him,  hiding  her 
tear-tired  eyes. 

"  I  know,  I  know.  Well,  we'll  say  you  are  right,  feel- 
ing as  you  do,  thinking  as  you  do.  But  what  about  me  ? 
Am  I  not  equally  likely  to  be  right?  Am  I  never  right? 
Tell  me  that." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  227 

How  could  she  go  on  talking?  What  words  were  then 
left  to  her,  leaning  against  him,  his  arms  around  her  ? 

"Well,  am  I  right?" 

"  God  knows,"  she  said  wearily. 

"  Yes !  but  that's  no  good  to  me.    I  want  you  to  know." 

There  are  truths  stranger  than  fiction,  trite  as  the  say- 
ing is ;  every  day  there  is  an  incident  that  proves  it  afresh. 
For  weeks  she  had  waited  for  him;  last  night  he  had 
come.  There  was  no  resentment  in  her,  only  gladness  at 
his  coming.  To-day  she  knew  why  he  had  come,  and 
the  baseness  of  it.  Yet,  standing  there  with  his  arms 
around  her,  feeling  his  breath  on  her  hair,  she  forgot,  for 
an  instant,  the  reason  of  his  coming,  and  all  but  his 
strong  comeliness.  Her  passion  for  him  was  like  a  swell- 
ing chorus  of  tumultuous  music,  the  sound  overwhelmed 
her,  drowned  her  intelligence,  beat  upon  her  ears.  He 
knew  his  power  with  her,  and  had  his  victory  in  sight; 
he  laid  a  light  kiss  on  the  waves  of  her  hair,  and  it 
thrilled  through  her. 

"  So  you  love  me  all  the  same,"  he  said,  "  though  I'm 
never  right?"  Her  lips  framed  no  answer. 

"  With  your  heart  and  soul  ?" 

"  Ah !"  She  looked  up  then.  "  You  have  it,  with  my 
heart  and  soul."  He  caught  her  back  to  him  again. 

'  Then  love  me  with  your  conscience  too." 

It  was  like  Louis  to  leave  her  five  minutes  later  without 
another  word  about  the  farm,  or  about  the  paper  he 
wanted  her  to  sign,  like  Louis,  too,  to  be  supremely  con- 
tent and  assured  and  self-satisfied. 

"  I  shall  have  the  paper  signed  before  I'm  back  in  Pic- 
cadilly," he  said  to  himself,  rolling  citywards.  "  The 
impertinence  of  the  woman  to  set  her  will  against  mine. 
Well !  they're  all  alike." 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 


WITHIN  an  hour  of  Louis's  leaving  her,  Joan  heard 
that  De  Groot  was  indeed  dead,  that  he  had  been  dead 
three  weeks,  and  she  learnt,  too,  that  Louis  knew  it,  and 
had  known  it  all  the  time.  The  letter  reached  her  almost 
before  Louis's  carriage  was  out  of  sight,  it  was  from  Van 
Biene's  partner  in  Pretoria,  and  it  told  her  that  her  hus- 
band had  died  with  his  faith  in  her  unbroken.  The  will, 
the  assignment  of  the  farm,  everything,  came  to  her  that 
day  from  the  offices  of  Van  Biene's  partner  in  Pretoria. 

"  You  know  what  were  his  views  about  the  land,"  wrote 
Jonathan  van  Biene.  "  You  are  not  bound  in  any  way, 
but  he  wished  it  to  remain  as  it  was.  His  father's  grave 
is  there,  and  his  grandfather's ;  he  wishes  to  be  laid  beside 
them.  He  has  provided  otherwise  for  Mrs.  Sannig  and 
her  children.  Only  the  farm  is  left  to  you." 

Joan  was  not  a  very  strong  woman  at  the  best  of  times, 
and  now  her  mental  as  well  as  her  physical  strength  was 
strained  under  the  novel  conditions.  When  her  mentality 
was  at  the  lowest  ebb,  and  the  better  half  of  her  brain 
was  paralysed,  phrases  came  instead  of  thoughts,  not  her 
own,  but  other  people's.  To-day,  with  Van  Biene's  letter 
in  her  hand,  and  Louis's  parting  words  in  her  ears,  the 
phrase  she  saw  was  Heine's : 

"  She  was  a  harlot,  and  he  was  a  thief, 
But  they  loved  each  other  beyond  belief." 

The  last  part  of  it  did  not  seem  to  ring  quite  true,  but  the 
first  came  again  and  again;  it  seemed,  indeed,  the  only 
thing  she  could  remember,  as  she  sat  on  the  sofa  in  that 
little  suburban  sitting-room,  with  the  deeds  of  poor  Piet's 
228 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  229 

farm  in  her  hand,  and  her  stunned  brain  trying  to  realise 
her  position.  Here  was  Piet's  farm  in  her  hand,  the 
farm  that  Louis  wanted.  She  knew  Louis's  obstinacy, 
and  the  paper  stared  at  her,  and  she  was  weak,  or  felt  she 
was  weak,  for  she  loved  him  with  every  despairing  pulse 
that  beat  his  worthlessness  into  her  consciousness,  where 
he  had  set  again  the  impress  of  his  grace  and  beauty.  He 
had  not  left  the  room  an  hour,  yet  already  she  was  yearn- 
ing for  his  return,  for  the  sound  of  his  voice,  for  the 
touch  of  his  hand,  for  the  mere  sight  of  him. 

For  a  long  time  after  he  had  left  her  she  sat  looking  at 
the  papers.  The  one  gleam  through  the  black  clouds 
about  her,  the  one  distant  possible  hope,  had  been,  that, 
if  Piet  died,  Louis  would  marry  her  before  the  child  was 
born ;  then,  perhaps,  she  could  influence  him ;  then,  per- 
haps, the  pain  she  suffered  through  him  would  become 
only  a  memory.  She  did  not  know  the  value  of  the  asset 
she  had,  but  she  knew  that  everything  Louis  wanted 
became  vital  to  him ;  he  could  brook  neither  contradiction 
nor  denial,  and,  above  all  things,  he  could  brook  nothing 
from  her. 

Sitting  very  still,  her  hands  folded,  the  paper  on  her 
lap,  she  tried  to  think  closely  of  the  problems  before  her. 
She  began  to  realise  that  this  time  the  issue  between  them 
was  vital,  that  Piet  was  dead,  and  Louis  knew  that  Piet 
was  dead.  He  had  not  asked  her  to  marry  him,  he  had 
asked  her  to  give  him  Piet's  farm.  Could  she  do  it? 
That  was  the  question, — not  what  he  would  do  with  it 
'  afterwards ;  that  she  already  knew,  and  she  could  not  be 
sophistical  with  herself.  He  would  do  with  it  everything 
that  Piet  would  not  have  had  him  do.  The  poor  dead 
man !  he  could  not  protect  himself  now  against  the  Alt- 
haus  encroachments,  could  not  protect  the  land  which  had 
become  his  father's  at  the  time  of  the  great  Trek,  which 
they  had  reclaimed  from  forest,  and  planted,  and  made 
their  own.  What  was  hers  was  Louis's ;  Louis  was  right 
there.  But  could  she  do  it?  Her  magnetised  mind  held 
phrases  better  than  pictures.  "  She  was  a  harlot  and  he 


230  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

was  a  thief,"  wound  in  and  out  among  the  problems  of 
facts  and  possibilities.  If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst, 
if  Louis  made  her  marriage  with  him  dependent  on  her 
accepting  the  legacy,  and  giving  it  to  him  or  Karl  for 
mining,  could  she  keep  firm,  seeing  how  she  loved  him? 

The  sun  rose  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the  warmth  and 
perfume  of  May  were  outside  that  casement  windov. . 
Inside  it  seemed  dark,  and  she  shivered  a  little.  Her 
dinner  came  up  and  she  tried  to  eat.  Another  phrase, 
this  time  one  of  her  own,  came  back  to  her.  "  I  told  him 
he  must  kill  my  conscience  if  he  wanted  me  to  do  this. 
How  easy  it  is  to  him.  What  has  he  not  killed?"  She 
could  not  put  it  into  words. 

What  was  left  to  her  of  her  womanhood  ?  Where  was 
her  modesty,  where  her  delicacy,  reserve,  pride?  How 
easily  now  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  and  once  she 
had  not  known  what  it  was  to  cry.  Where  were  her 
dreams?  She  dared  not  dream.  Would  he  marry  her? 
Did  he  mean — ?  She  could  not  look  backward  or  for- 
ward and  be  sure  of  anything.  What  little  things  they 
were  that  had  made  him  cruel  to  her ;  and  how  cruel  he 
had  been.  It  was  not  strange  that,  after  last  night,  after 
that  morning  episode,  she  could  not  think  clearly.  The 
documents  on  her  lap,  with  their  scarlet  and  green  seal, 
the  rustling  parchment  and  unfamiliar  stamps,  were  as 
living  things  in  the  room,  living  things  that  stood  between 
herself  and  Louis. 

And  without  him  she  could  not  live ;  that  was  what  she 
thought.  She  knew  her  love  was  one  with  herself.  She 
knew  she  was  not  strong  enough  to  deny  him  anything 
whilst  the  magic  of  his  personal  fascination  was  with  her, 
whilst  his  voice  echoed  in  her  ears,  his  kisses  lingered  on 
her  lips,  his  breath  anaesthetised  her  brain. 

But  she  was  honest.  She  shuddered  at  the  thought  of 
rearing  Louis's  babe  with  Piet's  money.  What  Louis  had 
said  to  her  about  the  value  of  the  shares  in  the  mine  had 
turned  her  sick.  She  had  never  thought  much  about 
money;  the  Althaus  obsession  had  always  been  incora- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  231 

prehensible  to  her.  Instinctively  she  felt  that  Louis  was 
unscrupulous,  was  less  scrupulous  even  than  Karl,  and 
Karl  spoke  of  robbery  very  lightly. 

Heine's  phrase  ground  itself  in,  and  she  reflected  mis- 
erably, "  If  I  had  only  myself  to  think  of,  if  I  were  not 
going  to  bear  him  a  child,  I  might  let  myself  yield,  for 
I  am  of  no  consequence — a  worthless  woman,  light,  lost." 

Whilst  her  love  for  Louis  had  burnt  purely,  whilst  her 
faith  in  love  was  still  a  white  flame,  she  had  never  thought 
of  herself  thus,  but  now — now — .  The  woman  was  hon- 
est. Women  who  label  themselves  so  proudly  might  deny 
this  virtue  to  her,  but,  nevertheless,  it  was  hers. 

On  her  lap  lay  the  papers  with  which  she  might  bring 
back  her  lover.  But  in  her  womb  stirred  the  babe  that 
was  his,  and  passionately  she  knew  she  dared  not  give 
him  birth,  if  now  she  robbed  the  dead  man  that  the  child 
might  know  a  father.  Hope  and  pride  in  him  were  gone, 
her  poor  baby,  that  was  Louis  Althaus's  son.  But  when 
he  should  come  into  the  world  he  must  come  with  no 
further  stain  from  her. 

"  If  I  have  nothing  to  give  you,  my  baby,  no  clean 
name  or  heritage,  at  least,  when  you  lie  in  my  lap,  you 
shall  look  up  at  me,  and  know  I  have  not  done  this  thing 
to  save  myself.  You  shan't  come  to  me  and  find  me  thief 
as  well  as  harlot.  Oh,  my  little  son,  my  baby!  would 
God  I  had  died  before  I  had  conceived  you !" 

She  broke  down,  and  cried  miserably  enough,  with  her 
head  pressed  against  the  hard  pillow-roll  of  the  horse- 
hair sofa.  But,  realising  that  her  strength  was  limited 
and  the  necessity  for  action  lay  before  her,  she  checked 
her  tears.  The  papers  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  she 
picked  them  up.  How  the  thought  dragged  at  her  heart 
that  Louis  wanted  them,  and  yet  she  must  hold  them 
back  from  him.  She  must  put  herself  out  of  danger, 
beyond  the  temptation  of  yielding;  she  knew  her  weak- 
ness, she  must  make  this  thing  impossible. 

If  she  were  in  South  Africa  now,  if  only  she  were  in 
Cape  Town,  she  could  have  gone  to  Piet's  executors; 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

forlornly  she  thought  she  might  have  pleaded  to  Karl 
Althaus.  Then  she  saw  in  fancy  the  grey  strip  that  had 
lain  between  her  and  Table  Mountain  as  she  had  steamed 
over  the  Bay  on  board  the  Arizona,  and  a  sudden  home- 
sickness came  upon  her,  she  longed  for  the  shelter  of 
her  mountains.  She  remembered  the  visits  from  Karl. 
Dimly  she  knew  she  had  more  to  hope  for  from  Karl  than 
from  Louis;  dimly  she  felt  the  elder,  rougher  brother 
loved  her  the  better.  What  was  hers  was  Louis's;  she 
had  given  him,  and  must  always  give  him,  everything. 
But  the  farm  was  not  hers  to  give ;  she  must  dispossess 
herself  of  it  quickly,  immediately,  she  must  put  it  out  of 
her  power  to  give  away  what  was  not  hers. 

Van  Biene's  letter  must  be  answered,  but  this  was  not 
her  Van  Biene,  her  friend  in  Cape  Town.  The  two  were 
brothers,  partners ;  surely  if  she  wrote  to  the  one,  to  that 
wizened,  little,  old  friend  of  hers  in  Cape  Town,  he  would 
understand  what  she  had  not  been  able  to  make  Louis 
see. 

The  ink  was  dry  in  the  pot,  and  the  pen  in  the  orna- 
mental inkstand  was  rusty.  The  hard,  empty  blotting- 
book  that  lay  on  the  woollen  mat  was  equally  imprac- 
ticable. She  had  to  fetch  everything  from  her  own  room, 
but  when,  at  last,  she  had  collected  her  materials  and  sat 
down,  she  found  the  words  flowed  easily  enough.  She 
told  Van  Biene  that,  when  she  left  Cape  Town,  she  had 
left  De  Groot  for  ever,  and  that  now  she  was  about  to 
become  a  mother,  that  Piet,  not  knowing  what  she  had 
done,  had  left  her  in  possession  of  his  farm,  but  that  it 
would  be  an  infamy  to  her  to  keep  it,  owing  it  to  him. 
She  wished  to  relinquish  all  claim  to  the  farm;  she 
wished  it  to  go  to  his  next-of-kin,  to  his  brother,  to  Mrs. 
Sannig,  to  anybody  who  was  Dutch  and  would  keep  it 
intact  as  he  had  wished,  and  she  begged  the  lawyer  to 
put  the  matter  in  hand  at  once. 

Her  appeal  to  Van  Biene  was  to  his  friendship ;  it  was 
an  appeal  that  was  touching  in  its  simplicity. 

"  I  implore  you  not  to  argue  with  me,  not  to  endeavour 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

to  persuade  me  differently.  I  am  going  out  now  to  see  a 
lawyer,  I  am  going  to  do  all  I  can,  but  I  depend  on  you 
to  do  the  rest.  I  have  no  one  I  can  trust  but  you.  For 
the  sake  of  old  times,  those  old  times  in  dear  Cape  Town 
when  I  was  an  honourable  woman,  and  a  happy  one,  and 
you  were  my  friend,  do  this  for  me  now,  immediately,  and 
cable  me.  I  feel  I  may  ask  you  this — cable  me  as  soon 
as  you  can  that  I  have  no  part  or  lot  in  Piet's  property." 

With  action  came  a  feverish  desire  to  be  accurate,  to 
be  exact.  She  rang  and  asked  to  see  the  landlady;  she 
told  her  she  wanted  a  lawyer,  she  must  see  one  that  very 
evening.  Fortunately  the  landlady  could  oblige  her.  The 
gentleman  who  helped  her  with  the  lease  of  her  house,  a 
very  nice  gentleman  he  was,  and  quite  a  friend  of  hers 
too,  seeing  that  her  sister  was  his  housekeeper,  and  he 
lived  almost  round  the  corner,  so  to  speak,  in  Bushey 
Terrace. 

Would  she  give  Joan  a  letter? 

Why,  of  course  she  would,  or,  better  still,  if  Joan  would 
like  to  go  round  with  her  to  see  him,  why,  it  was  a  fine 
night.  She'd  like  nothing  better  than  a  chat  with  her 
sister,  and  if  Mr.  Frere  was  at  home,  and  doing  nothing, 
the  chances  were  he'd  see  Joan.  He'd  do  almost  anything 
to  oblige  Mrs.  Gamble,  that's  what  they  called  her  sister, 
though  she  had  never  been  married,  but 

Joan  was  out  of  the  room  and  back  again,  with  coat 
and  bonnet,  before  her  landlady's  garrulousness  had  time 
*o  establish  itself.  But  she  suffered  it  gladly  during  that 
strange  walk  down  the  narrow  country  lane  to  Bushey 
Terrace.  Listening  even  with  half  an  ear  to  the  woman's 
chatter  was  better  than  hearing  only  the  repetition  of  one 
dreadful  phrase. 

It  was  a  fine  night,  cold  although  it  was  May,  the  sky 
cloud-driven  with  fitful  stars,  the  moon  hidden,  but 
making  light  the  heavens.  The  lanes  were  muddy  and 
still,  the  trees  showed  black  against  the  grey  of  the  sky. 
Joan  listened  to  all  the  details  of  her  landlady's  family 
history,  and  the  sister's  numerous  love  affairs.  During 


234  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

that  walk  she  became  glad  in  what  she  had  done  and  was 
doing,  in  her  steady  outlook,  in  the  cool  sweet  air.  She 
could  even  smile  as  she  listened  somewhat  abstractedly 
to  mysterious  hints  as  to  the  possibilities  of  Mrs.  Gamble 
ultimately  winning  the  affections  of  the  very  gentleman 
they  hoped  to  see  to-night. 

Everything  fell  out  propitiously.  Mr.  Frere  was  at 
home,  and  would  see  them.  Mrs.  Gamble,  a  facsimile  of 
her  sister,  fat,  in  black  silk  dress  and  gold  chain,  volu- 
bility making  mobile  her  lips,  and  desire  to  impart  confi- 
dences making  mysterious  her  manner,  ushered  them, 
after  inquiry  had  been  made  and  permission  given,  into 
the  study,  where  the  lawyer,  in  comfortable  morning  coat, 
in  cosy  easy-chair,  enjoying  his  cultured  leisure  among 
his  books  and  prints,  was  awaiting  them. 

Mr.  Frere  was  a  man  of  about  sixty,  thin  and  spec- 
tacled, dry  and  tall.  He  looked  at  Joan,  and  she  smiled 
and  bowed. 

"  This  lady,"  began  the  landlady,  "  she's  my  lodger, 
sir,  and  I  will  say " 

The  old  gentleman  recognised  an  equal,  and  placed  a 
chair  for  her. 

"  You  would  like  to  have  a  chat  with  your  sister,"  he 
said,  waving  both  the  landlady  and  the  hopeful  sister  out 
of  the  room  before  either  had  time  to  finish  a  sentence. 
Joan,  feeling  young  for  the  moment,  had  smiled.  The 
hopes  of  Mrs.  Gamble,  coupled  with  the  illusion-dispell- 
ing appearance  of  the  old  lawyer,  appealed  to  her  sense 
of  humour.  But  her  smile  quickly  faded,  and  the  old 
man  saw  wistful  eyes,  blue  as  a  child's,  in  a  small  drawn 
face,  and  a  figure  that  told  its  own  history. 

"You  want  help,  advice?"  His  generous  hand  ad- 
vanced. Joan  saw  the  movement  and  her  eyes  filled. 

"  Advice,"  she  said  quickly,  "  only  advice." 

"You  are  in  trouble.  I  have  a  daughter  about  your 
age;  she  is  out  in  South  Africa,"  he  sighed,  "wanting 
advice  too,  perhaps,  poor  thing!  Her  husband  is  in 
Mashonaland " 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  235 

He  wanted  to  set  her  at  her  ease,  noting  the  easily  filled 
eyes,  the  lips  rather  tremulous.  He  spoke  another  sen- 
tence or  two.  She  rested  her  arm  on  the  table,  shaded 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  spoke  low : 

"  It  is  about  a  document  I  wanted  to  see  you  about, 
some  documents  I've  brought  with  me.  There  are  cer- 
tain estates — in  South  Africa.  They  belong,  they  may 
belong  to  me.  It  is  not  on  a  supposition  I  am  acting.  I 
have  all  the  papers  with  me." 

His  quick  interest  abated  a  little. 

"  You  want  to  make  claim  to  an  estate  ?" 

She  kept  her  hand  up,  her  face  was  working ;  it  wasn't 
easy  to  talk. 

"  No,  it  is  an  estate  that  I  am  entitled  to,  it  was  settled 
on  me  when  married;  my  husband  is  dead.  He  was 
dying,  he  must  have  been  dying,  when  I  left  him.  I 
want  to  relinquish  my  claim — these  papers — I  want  to 
assign  them.  I  don't  know  how  to  put  it.  I  ought  not 
to  have  them — it  is  a  mistake,  it  is  all  a  mistake.  Help 
me  to  get  rid  of  them." 

Then  his  voice  was  very  gentle. 

"  You  want  to  relinquish  any  claim  you  may  have  to 
your  husband's,  your  late  husband's  estate,  on  behalf  of 
yourself — and  your  child?" 

Her  hand  dropped,  he  saw  her  eyes.  They  were  dry, 
though  the  painful  flush  made  the  small  drawn  face  most 
piteous  to  see. 

"  On  behalf  of  myself  and  my  baby." 

"  My  dear  child — you  are  only  a  child  yourself — have 
you  considered,  has  any  one  told  you " 

"  I  haven't  a  soul  in  the  world  to  speak  to  me." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  left  your  husband  ?" 

Joan,  thinking  of  the  time  when  she  had  left  him  in 
thought,  and  separated  herself  from  him  finally,  answered : 

"  Less  than  a  year." 

"A  year— and  he?" 

"  Died,  knowing  nothing." 

"  And  you  want  him — the  world  to  know  ?" 


236  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  I  don't  want  to  take  what  doesn't  belong  to  me — or 
to  let — to  let  my  baby." 

"  You  would  brand  it  illegitimate  rather !  Forgive  me 
— I  cannot  help  you  if  I  cannot  speak  plainly  to  you." 

"  Neither  he  nor  I  must  take  what  does  not  belong 
to  us,  not  even  a  name."  The  voice  was  steady  now, 
although  it  was  low.  How  right  she  was!  Conviction 
grew  on  her  as  she  gave  it  words. 

"  The  law  would  be  on  your  side." 

"  Perhaps ;  but  all  the  wrong  would  be  there." 

"  I  want  to  help  you — I  should  like  to  help  you — but — 
I  am  a  lawyer." 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  advise  me,  to  want  to  help  me. 
I  see  you  do.  I  have  been  very  lonely,  perhaps  I  ought 
not  to  have  come  like  this.  I  don't  want  you  to  advise 
me  as  to  whether  I  am  right  or  wrong — I  am  so  sure.  I 
want  you  to  advise  me  how  to  make  it  certain  that  I 
cannot  go  back,  to  make  it  impossible  for  any  temptation 
to  move  me."  The  thought  of  Louis,  perhaps  pleading  to 
her,  was  like  a  mountain  that  she  must  climb,  she,  who 
already  lay  exhausted  at  the  base. 

"  Here  are  the  papers."  She  handed  them  to  him.  "  I 
am  going  to  send  them  back  to  the  lawyers  over  there,  but 
I  want  to  make  it  sure,  so  sure,  that  nothing  can  undo  it. 
I  know  I  ought  to  sign  something,  or  draw  up  something. 
Can  you  help  me?  Will  you  help  me  to  that?  That  is 
what  I  have  come  to  you  for." 

He  glanced  through  the  documents.  "  I  am  not  well 
versed  in  South  African  law."  He  hesitated ;  he  was  a 
lawyer  out  of  harness,  but  he  was  a  lawyer  still,  and  this 
was  an  extraordinary  step  she  contemplated.  Of  the 
value  of  the  estate  she  knew  nothing,  but  to  rid  herself  of 
it  summarily  did  not  appear  to  him  feasible. 

"  You  must  face  the  possibility  that  your  son,  if  you 
have  a  son,  may  one  day  reproach  you  with  parting  with 
your  property.  What  is  the  nature  of  the  estate,  what  is 
the  approximate  value?  Is  it  a  tempting  one?  What  is 
the  danger  of  delay?  Surely  you  are  exaggerating  the 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  237 

danger  of  delay  ?    I  am  anxious  to  help  you,  but  the  way; 
does  not  seem  clear  to  me." 

"  It  is  land,  a  farm,  I  don't  know  the  value.  It  is  a 
simple  thing  I  want  you  to  do.  You  say  you  want  to  help 
me.  There  is  only  one  way.  Draw  up  a  paper,  binding, 
legal,  impossible  to  break  through,  that  rids  me  of  all 
interest  in  my  late  husband's  estates."  She  was  fever- 
ish in  her  desire  for  freedom  from  the  burden  of  Piet's 
trust. 

"  What  do  you  propose  doing  with  this  paper  if  I  draw 
it  up  for  you?" 

"  Sending  it  to  my  husband's  lawyer." 

"  Is  he  your  friend  ?" 

"  I  think  so.  It  is  because  I  think  and  hope  he  is  that 
I  shall  send  it." 

Very  gently  he  asked: 

"  Telling  him  your  motives  for  such  strange  action  ?" 

The  painful  flush  that  had  ebbed  flooded  her  cheeks 
again. 

"  I  have  kept  nothing  back." 

The  pitifulness  of  it,  her  youth,  womanhood,  condition, 
the  story  he  read  through  it  all,  made  the  lawyer's  re- 
luctance sympathetic.  She  urged  her  case  on  him  with 
broken  eloquence,  with  wordless  pleading.  He  read  the 
story  through  her  anxiety.  Her  soul  shone  through  it  too. 
Against  his  judgment,  against  all  his  experience,  against 
even  his  will,  he  finally  drew  up  the  paper — a  short  one, 
^i  mere  relinquishment  of  title  in  favour  of  a  next-of-kin 
unnamed.  All  the  time  he  was  writing  he  tried  to  per- 
suade her  of  the  folly  of  it,  but  for  answer  all  she  could 
urge  was  her  subtle,  secret  fear  that,  if  she  did  not  make 
herself  safe,  some  power  would  be  used,  some  influence 
brought  to  bear,  which  would  make  her  false  to  herself, 
and  to  the  dead  man  who  had  trusted  her.  He  felt  all 
that  was  behind  her  halting  words. 

'  There,  you  would  have  your  own  way — I  hope  you 
will  not  live  to  regret  it.  Now  I'll  call  up  your  landlady 
to  witness  your  signature." 


238  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Thank  you — thank  you."  She  wrote  her  name  with 
trembling  fingers,  and  took  up  the  paper.  "  And  I  may 
take  it  that  this  ends  it,  ends  all  my  interest  in  the  farm, 
now  and  always,  and  nothing  can  upset  it?" 

"  If  that  paper  goes  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Van  Biene, 
and  he  wishes  to  help  you,  I  think  you  may  have  achieved 
your  object!  Mind  I  don't  know — I  think;  you  must 
not  rely  upon  it." 

I  Joan  gathered  up  the  rest  of  the  papers,  all  those  elab- 
orate, sealed  documents  from  Pretoria,  and  held  out  her 
hand  in  farewell. 

"  Good-bye,  and  thank  you.  You  don't  know  how 
much  I  thank  you.  You  have  been  very  good  to  me." 

He  held  her  hand  a  moment,  and  said  very  gently : 

"  But  are  you  wise  ?  Are  you  quite  sure  you  are  acting 
wisely  ?  I  am  afraid  for  you ;  I  don't  think  I  have  been 
kind  to  you — quite  the  contrary.  You  are  young,  frail, 
you  have  perhaps  a  hard  time  in  front  of  you." 

Her  eyes  filled,  her  hand  shook  in  his;  she  knew  the 
time  that  was  before  her  without  Louis. 

"  Have  you — forgive  me  if  I  pain  you — have  you 
money  enough,  are  you  sure  of  help  ?  My  child,  I  am  an 
old  man,  a  stranger  to  you.  You  are  doing  a  brave  thing, 
a  noble  thing,  perhaps,  I  don't  know,  I  cannot  judge ;  you 
have  told  me  little.  But  have  you  counted  all  the  cost  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  want  to  keep  my  hands  clean,  I  must  keep  them 
clean  for  the  boy's  sake.  I  feel  he  will  understand ;  I 
can  go  through  until  then."  She  almost  broke  down. 
Her  womanly  craving  for  love,  for  understanding,  fas- 
tened itself  passionately  on  to  her  coming  child. 

She  left  the  lawyer  soon  after  that,  but  drank  a  glass 
of  wine  to  please  him,  and  talked  a  little  of  commonplace 
things.  He  felt  the  appeal  of  her ;  and  she  made  a  friend 
of  him,  as  she  had  made  friends  in  the  old  days  out  of 
lovers,  admirers,  mere  partizans,  everybody.  Mr.  Frere 
was  neither  emotional  nor  demonstrative,  he  was  over 
sixty  years  of  age,  a  lawyer  and  an  Englishman;  but 
when,  on  that  evening,  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  parting, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  239 

he  put  his  thin  lips  upon  it  and,  as  she  went  out,  he  said 
"  God  bless  you !" 

Joan  posted  her  letters  and  her  papers,  and  that  night 
she  slept  peacefully  and  well,  as  if  she  had  come  out  of  a 
storm  into  a  calm,  safe  harbourage.  And  now  no  longer 
she  seemed  to  hear  the  crying  of  a  babe.  All  was  rest 
and  calm,  for  the  spell  of  her  imagination  lay  softly  about 
him,  and  she  thought  the  soul  that  was  coming  to  her 
straight  from  Heaven  rejoiced  in  sweet  reconcilement, 
that  at  last  her  weakness  was  overcome,  and  the  dead 
man's  faith  justified. 

She  slept  peacefully  and  calmly  that  night,  although 
she  knew,  as  if  the  world  held  no  other  fact,  that  between 
her  and  Louis  all  was  ended.  There  was  no  doubt  or 
hope;  it  was  like  a  death  sentence  with  no  possible  re- 
prieve, no  mercy.  That  she  knew,  too,  but  still  she  slept 
in  utter  exhaustion,  for  the  first  time  in  many  weary 
months,  without  self-loathing  and  contempt,  without  a 
speechless  longing,  without  being  torn  asunder  by  her 
love  for  Louis  and  her  knowledge  of  him.  That  night 
God  gave  her  sleep,  even  as  He  gives  His  beloved  sheep. 
If  then  she  could  have  slept  on  and  on  and  known  no 
awakening,  it  would  have  been  pardon;  but,  from  her 
sin,  as  from  her  sentence,  there  was  no  escape. 

Louis  was  not  the  man  to  be  beaten  easily  in  anything 
upon  which  he  had  set  his  heart ;  neither  his  vanity  nor 
his  self-respect  was  of  the  nature  that  would  prevent  him 
trying  to  wrest  from  his  mistress  anything  that  she  might 
\vish  to  withhold. 

He  waited,  expectant  of  the  document  and  the  loving 
letter.  When  neither  came,  he  repaired  to  Bushey  with- 
out delay. 

Joan  thought  this  would  have  been  spared  her.  She 
had  made  her  plans  and  slept,  in  the  belief  that  she  had 
time  before  her,  that  he  would  not  come  to  her  again 
until  she  had  expiated  her  offence,  that  he  would,  in  fact, 
with  this  big  stake  in  front  of  him,  pursue  the  same  tactics 
that  had  served  his  purpose  well  enough  when  merely 


240  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

his  appetite  required  titillating,  so  little  she  realised  him, 
even  now. 

She  had  barely  dressed  and  breakfasted,  and  had  not 
yet  commenced  her  packing,  when  his  brougham  drove 
up,  and  he  was  with  her.  The  cruelty  of  another,  a  final, 
scene  between  them  had  to  be  faced.  It  would  have  been 
so  easy  had  she  only  had  him  to  fight,  but  she  had  herself. 
Even  this  morning,  seeing  him  in  his  well-fitting,  grey 
morning  suit,  with  his  air  of  health  and  the  smile  in  his 
handsome  eyes  and  under  his  well-brushed  moustache, 
she  knew  she  loved  him,  and,  when  he  kissed  her  his  gay 
"  Good-morning,"  she  felt  as  if  she  had  no  strength  with 
.\vhich  to  deny  him. 

"  Well,  old  girl !  how's  the  world  with  you  this  morn- 
ing ?  I  couldn't  sleep ;  you  oughtn't  to  have  worried  me 
about  that  paper,  the  beastly  thing  haunted  me  all  night," 
was  the  way  he  began. 

She  had  exhausted  reason,  he  would  not  listen  to 
reason.  She  had  exhausted  caresses,  Joan  knew  that  she 
could  not  now  move  Louis  with  caresses.  Tears  were  left 
her,  but  this  morning  her  eyes  were  dry. 

"  I  can't  sign  that  paper,  Louis,"  she  said  to  him  in  a 
low  voice  almost  immediately,  before  he  had  time  to  say 
more. 

"Can't  sign?" 

What  use  going  over  the  weary  scene,  the  weary  day  ? 
She  tried  to  tell  him  the  farm  was  no  longer  hers ;  he 
would  not  listen,  perhaps  she  did  not  try  very  vigorously. 
Her  voice  was  low,  her  words  were  few,  compared  with 
.the  torrent  that  Louis  poured  upon  her.  For  the  whole 
'long  day  he  tortured  her,  sometimes  with  tears  and  fond- 
lings, sometimes  with  mean  reproaches  and  threats. 
Some  of  his  words  bit  into  her,  the  wounds  ached  for 
weeks,  ached  almost  unbearably.  He  let  her  see  what 
such  men  as  he  think  of  women  who  give  them  what 
they  ask. 

She  saw  him  as  God  saw  him,  and  all  her  mind  rejected 
him.  Still,  she  was  as  a  beaten  thing  before  him,  bruised, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  241 

bastinadoed,  crawling,  because  she  loved  every  breath  of 
him.  He  reminded  her  of  words  she  had  said  to  him  in 
the  abandonment  of  love,  as  a  lever  to  wrest  the  dead 
man's  vineyard  from  her! 

He  told  her  that  if  she  did  not  let  him  have  the  farm 
she  ruined  him  and  ruined  Karl ;  he  told  her  all  about  the 
Geldenrief,  that  is  to  say,  he  told  her  that  all  he  had  in 
the  world  was  invested  in  the  outcrop,  that  the  outcrop 
was  valueless  without  the  deep,  that  the  deep  lay  under 
the  graves  of  her  dead  husband  and  his  dead  forbears. 

He  could  not  see,  she  could  not  make  him  see,  that 
those  brave  old  pioneers,  those  sturdy  farmers  who  had 
reclaimed  the  soil  from  waste,  had  the  right  to  their  quiet 
burial  place  beneath  it,  that,  weak  woman  as  she  was, 
she  could  not  steal  those  rights  from  the  powerless  dead 
hands  to  give  them  to  him. 

All  day  he  talked,  all  that  long  endless  day,  going  away, 
or  making  a  pretence  of  going  away,  and  coming  back 
before  she  had  time  to  feel  that  at  last,  at  last  the  pain  of 
it  was  over. 

"  Remember,"  he  said  to  her,  coming  back  for  the 
fourth  time  to  that  little  dingy  dining-room  where  now  it 
seemed  to  her  the  sun  had  never  penetrated,  "  remember 
that  what  I  say,  I  mean.  If  you  send  me  away,  without 
doing  this  little  thing  for  me,  this  one  little  thing  I  ask 
of  you,  I  have  done  with  you  for  ever.  From  first  to 
last  you  have  disappointed  me.  Nothing  you  could  say 
would  undo  what  you  have  done.  You  remember  the 
'dressing-gown,  and  the  way  you  kept  me  waiting;  and 
writing  to  the  fellow  without  telling  me.  It  is  of  him 
you  are  thinking  now,  his  wishes,  not  mine.  But  I  would 
have  forgiven  you,  forgiven  you  everything,  if  you  had 
done  what  I  told  you  about  this.  Mind,  I  don't  say  every- 
thing would  be  as  it  was  between  us,  you  have  ruined 
the  chance  of  that,  you  are  not  the  woman  I  thought  you 
• — you  have  given  me  every  trouble.  But  I  will  be  to 
you,  as  far  as  I  can,  what  I  have  been  before.  Think 
Well  before  you  answer.  If  I  leave  you  now — I  leave 

16 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

you  for  ever,  for  ever;  don't  make  any  mistake.  I  mean 
what  I  say." 

"  It  is  always  '  for  ever'  with  you,  Louis,"  she  said 
wearily,  not  facing  him,  standing  at  the  window,  her  old 
attitude,  looking  for  light.  The  sun  was  shining,  but 
there  seemed  no  light,  only  a  glare,  and  it  hurt  her  eyes, 
they  ached  and  burned.  She  went  on  staring  at  the  sun, 
physical  pain  helped  her. 

"  I  don't  want  any  reproaches,"  he  said  hastily,  "  never 
mind  what  I  said  or  did ;  the  question  is,  what  are  you 
going  to  do?  Am  I  to  go?"  (Three  times  he  had  asked 
her  and  she  had  made  no  answer,  and  he  had  gone,  but 
she  had  not  called  him  back,  and  yet  he  had  returned  to 
her,  for  he  badly  wanted  the  farm,  and  his  own  way.) 
"Tell  me  that,  once  for  all,  am  I  to  go?  Don't  stand 
staring  there ;  tell  me,  am  I  to  go  or  stay  ?" 

She  had  been  so  buffeted  and  beaten  about  that  awful 
day.  At  first  she  had  tried  all  a  woman  could  try  to  open 
his  eyes,  and  make  him  see  the  thing  he  was  doing ;  she 
had  failed  so  completely  to  penetrate  the  folds  of  his 
greed,  of  his  stupidity,  of  his  egotism,  that  now  there 
was  no  strength  left  in  her.  She  had  gone  down  in  the 
fight. 

She  turned  from  the  window  as  he  asked  her,  and  faced 
him.  The  sun  was  still  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him, 
standing  at  the  door,  hat  in  hand,  but  his  figure  seemed  to 
sway  a  little,  dark  and  indistinct  before  her.  She  sat 
down  for  safety.  The  room,  too,  swam  a  little  and  was 
dark.  She  wanted  to  be  alone,  to  be  quiet;  she  was 
tired,  desperately  tired  of  Louis's  voice. 

"  Go,"  she  said,  "  go.    I  want  to  be  alone." 

All  the  day  she  had  argued  w'th  him,  wrestled  with 
him.  She  was  so  tired  and  weak,  she  knew  it  was  over, 
but  she  must  have  rest,  solitude.  All  the  day  he  had 
argued  with  those  wearying  arguments  that  held  no  rea- 
son. Now  she  wanted  him  to  go.  She  knew  nothing  so 
definitely  as  that  she  wanted  him  to  go.  He  could  get 
nothing  from  her  but  that : 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  that  you  are  going,  and  you 
are  not  coming  back;  don't  say  it  again,  Louis,  don't 
stand  there  saying  it ;  go,  go,  go !  I  am  tired." 

There,  against  the  table  where  she  sat,  she  dropped  her 
head  into  her  arms,  and,  though  he  stood  there  talking, 
threatening,  even  beginning  to  argue  the  morality  of  the 
case  all  over  again,  she  never  raised  it.  He  thought  he 
would  go  over  to  her,  put  his  hand  on  her  head,  coax  her. 
But  she  was  dishevelled,  unwieldy,  he  hated  her,  again  he 
hated  her.  He  could  not  control  his  feelings.  He  went 
out  and  banged  the  door  after  him ;  she  heard  the  bang 
dully,  but  it  meant  he  was  gone — and  she  was  glad  he 
was  gone. 

With  all  Joan  had  suffered,  and  had  still  to  suffer, 
through  this  man,  this  day  had  been  the  worst.  For 
she  had  been  face  to  face  with  the  skeleton  of  her  passion, 
and  it  had  grinned  and  gibed  at  her  almost  fleshless.  The 
thing  she  had  loved  was  loathsome,  the  flesh  that  clung 
to  it  noisome.  This  day  she  had  lived  with  the  real  Louis, 
and  this  day  she  was  clear-brained,  and  knew  what  she 
had  done. 

An  hour  after  Louis  left  the  cottage  at  Bushey,  Joan 
left  it  too. 

When,  three  days  later — for  Louis's  "  for  ever"  had 
lasted  three  whole  days — he  went  down  there  again,  there 
was  no  face  at  the  dining-room  window,  no  curtain  drawn 
aside  from  the  casement  upstairs:  Joan  had  gone.  She 
bad  taken  him  at  his  word.  She  was  gone. 

The  landlady  could  tell  him  nothing,  though  he  cross- 
examined  her  with  all  the  skill  of  which  he  was  capable. 
She  had  nothing  to  tell.  Mrs.  Grey — for  so  Joan  was 
known,  Louis  had  not  lent  her  his  name — Mrs.  Grey,  an 
hour  after  he  had  left,  had  packed  up  her  things,  had  had 
a  cab  sent  for,  and  driven  to  the  station.  She  had  left  no 
note,  she  had  left  no  address. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 


JOAN  was  gone,  had  disappeared,  leaving  neither  letter 
nor  other  trace,  neither  explanation  nor  excuse.  Of 
course,  Louis  was  dumfounded ;  that  he  was  startled  out 
of  complacency  expresses  it  but  mildly.  He  had  gone 
down  to  the  cottage,  after  the  lapse  of  three  days,  with 
a  whole  bushel  of  new  arguments,  convincing,  irrefutable. 
Joan  must  see  that  he  had  right  on  his  side,  she  must  be 
made  to  see  it.  By  this  time,  he  thought,  she  would  be 
fearful  of  the  consequences  of  her  action,  or  lack  of  action, 
she  would  be  passionately  glad  of  his  coming;  in  that 
mood  he  would  clinch  the  matter,  he  would  leave  nothing 
to  chance  this  time,  he  knew  how  to  deal  with  her,  and 
when. 

This  was  the  mood  he  had  gone  down  in,  and  he  found 
her  place  empty.  Because  he  was  a  fool  he  bullied  the 
landlady,  even  insulted  her  in  his  rage.  She  must  know 
where  her  lodger  had  gone;  she  had  no  right  to  let  her 
go  without  telling  him. 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  know  naught  about  her.  She  said 
she  was  going,  and  she  packed  up  her  things  and  went. 
You've  no  call  to  stand  there  abusing  me.  The  poor 
thing  wasn't  too  happy  whilst  she  was  with  you,  that  I'll 
be  sworn,  and  if  she's  gone  to  those  that  will  be  kinder 
to  her " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  your  opinion." 

But  he  had  to  hear  it,  and  it  rankled  with  him,  as  he 
drove  off  after  his  unfruitful  journey.  His  anger  against 
the  landlady  evaporated  before  he  reached  Piccadilly,  but 
against  Joan 

He  would  show  her  what  he  would  do;  he  wouldn't 
wait  until  she  came  back  and  pleaded  with  him.  He  had 
244 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  245 

done  with  her.  He  was  glad  to  remember  her  condition, 
he  was  glad  to  think  she  would  suffer.  His  rage  against 
her  because  she  was  not  there  to  listen  to  his  arguments 
made  him  almost  irresponsible.  Still,  being  Louis's  rage, 
there  was  sufficient  lull  in  the  whirlwind  for  him  to  re- 
member the  material  injury  he  suffered  from  her  depart- 
ure, to  remember  and  seek  to  minimise  it. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  follow  the  workings  of  his-  mind 
during  the  twenty-four  hours  that  elapsed  after  he  knew 
that  Joan  was  out  of  his  reach.  His  letter  to  Karl  shows 
the  result.  Karl  had  never  failed  him. 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  have  done  right,"  he  wrote  to  his 
brother,  "  but  I  bought  up  all  the  shares  I  could  get  of  the 
Geldenrief.  I  did  it  for  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place, 
I  thought  it  advisable  that  the  Althaus  Bank  should  come 
out  with  flying  colours,  enabling  the  financial  papers  to 
say  that  all  the  Althaus  companies  were  at  such  and  such. 
a  price,  were  doing  well,  in  fact.  And  in  the  second,  I 
remembered  what  you  said  about  using  the  machinery, 
and  getting  at  the  deep  through  the  outcrop,  your  idea 
that  the  vein  was  broadening  out,  and  that  in  another 
hundred  feet  it  would  be  payable.  Altogether,  I  thought 
the  right  thing  to  do  was  to  get  as  many  shares  as  I 
could.  I  put  them  in  my  name,  but,  of  course,  I  did  it  on 
your  account ;  I  knew  you  would  not  let  me  lose  through 
it.  I'll  keep  the  figures  until  I  see  you ;  it  has  cost 
me  something  like  two  hundred  thousand,  but  then  I've 
^ecured  control. 

"  I've  met  both  the  Honourable  Stephen  Hayward  and 
his  daughter.  Hayward  seems  to  have  taken  quite  a 
fancy  to  me ;  I  have  dined  with  him  twice,  and,  of  course, 
I've  been  introduced  to  his  daughter.  There  seems  no 
doubt  that  he  will  have  an  influential  position  in  the  new 
Cabinet,  and,  if  you  are  really  in  earnest  about  taking 
the  Transvaal,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  have  any  difficulty 
in  getting  him  to  stand  in  with  us.  He  told  me  you  had 
been  advising  him  as  to  his  investments.  If  there  is  going 
to  be  a  row  over  there,  you  had  better  cable  him  to  get 


246  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

out  of  all  his  holdings ;  if  he  does  this,  it  will  compromise 
him,  and  he'll  have  to  back  us  up.  About  the  daughter, 
now — you  know,  dear  old  chap,  I  would  do  anything  on 
earth  for  you,  or  for  any  cause  you've  set  your  mind  on. 
It's  the  best  blood  in  England  when  all's  said  and  done." 

The  pen  dropped  out  of  his  fingers.  Why  shouldn't 
he,  why  the  devil  shouldn't  he?  His  anger  with  Joan, 
his  inability  to  face  the  situation  with  regard  to  the  Gel- 
denrief,  had  brought  him  within  sight  of  a  strange  possi- 
bility, but  each  time  he  looked  at  it  he  averted  his  eyes. 
His  very  anger  with  Joan  left  him  unfree  from  her.  But 
the  written  words  forced  him  to  consider  the  possibility 
of  repairing  his  fortunes,  fortunes  that  Joan's  actions  had 
made  precarious,  and  of  repairing  them  through  another 
woman.  "  It's  her  own  fault,  it  is  all  her  own  fault,"  he 
said  to  himself  savagely,  as  he  took  up  the  pen  again 
and  went  on. 

"  If  I  were  to  marry  Hayward's  daughter  there 
wouldn't  be  a  house  in  England  not  open  to  us.  What 
do  you  think  of  it?  Of  course,  we  should  have  to  come 
to  some  different  business  arrangement,  naturally  they 
would  want  something  big  in  the  way  of  settlements,  and 
a  partnership, — I  suppose  I  can  count  on  a  partnership 
in  the  bank?  Of  course,  I  know  you  have  always  been 
liberal  to  me,  and  that  I  am  your  heir  and  that  sort  of 
thing;  'What's  yours  is  mine,'  I've  heard  you  say,  and, 
when  I  acted  for  you  in  the  Geldenrief  matter,  I  had  it 
in  view,  but  still,  if  I  am  to  marry,  I  ought  to  be  inde- 
pendent. Anyway,  write  me  your  views.  I  won't  let  the 
grass  grow  under  my  feet  meanwhile.  Things  are  on  the 
boom  here,  and  no  mistake."  Here  followed  a  list  of 
prices  and  comments.  The  most  worthless  hole  in  which 
any  digger  had  ever  prospected  and  been  disappointed 
was  quoted  at  that  time  at  a  figure  it  could  hardly  have 
supported  if  it  had  been  a  pocket  filled  with  diamonds. 
At  the  end  of  the  letter  Louis  expressed  his  conviction 
that  now,  this  moment,  this  very  moment,  and  no  other, 
was  the  crucial  time  for  bringing  out  the  Althaus  Bank. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  247 

The  letter  finished  and  despatched,  the  things  that  he 
had  said  in  it  became  vital,  they  dodged  and  pursued  him. 
Until  the  affair  of  the  Geldenrief  was  settled,  he  felt  poor, 
his  income  of  about  fifteen  thousand  a  year,  his  free  quar- 
ters, his  prospects,  did  not  prevent  him  feeling  poor,  now 
that  he  had  so  foolishly  locked  up  his  capital.  Not  that 
he  admitted  he  had  been  foolish.  He  had  every  right  to 
look  upon  the  De  Groot  farm  as  his  own,  and  Karl's 
judgment  was  never  at  fault;  the  farm  must  be  a  marvel 
of  richness,  His  uneasiness,  notwithstanding  the  argu- 
ments with  which  he  plied  himself,  could  not  be  shaken 
off.  The  worst  of  his  trouble  was  that,  when  he  had 
given  a  hint  to  Sam  Oldberger  about  the  deep  of  the 
Geldenrief,  Sam  had  said,  "  Thank  God,  then,  we  are  free 
of  the  outcrop."  He  had  been  unable  to  force  Sam  Old- 
berger to  admit  the  value  of  the  outcrop  and  its  machin- 
ery, as  an  item  in  considering  the  deep.  He  loathed  Sam 
for  his  opinion,  but  it  stuck  nevertheless. 

It  forced  itself  upon  him  that  the  only  way  out  of  his 
troubles  was  to  marry  Aline  Hayward.  Karl  would  make 
a  liberal  settlement;  Karl  would  recognise  that  he  was 
sacrificing  himself  for  the  sake  of  helping  the  Uitlander 
cause.  And,  looking  at  the  thing,  it  began  to  have  its 
points.  It  would  be  something  of  a  personal  triumph  to 
force  the  stronghold  of  exclusiveness.  Louis  Althaus 
never  ceased  to  resent  that  there  should  be  certain  families 
who  preferred  to  keep  their  houses  for  themselves.  He 
,  saw  no  humour  in  the  "  pigs  in  clover"  phrase. 

As  he  wrote  to  Karl,  he  did  not  let  the  grass  grow 
under  his  feet.  He  asked  Stephen  to  drive  down  to  Rane- 
lagh  with  him  for  the  next  meet  of  the  Coaching  Club, 
and  to  bring  his  daughter.  Stephen  was  too  busy,  he 
wrote,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  accept  Louis  Althaus's 
invitation.  In  truth,  each  time  he  had  met  the  man  he 
had  liked  him  less,  and  everything  he  heard  men  saying 
of  him  confirmed  his  judgment — the  men  whose  opinions 
he  valued,  that  is  to  say.  Louis's  popularity  was,  after 
all,  a  limited  one,  and  the  things  Stephen  could  not  help 


248  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

hearing  made  him  regret  that  Louis  Althaus  could  say 
he  knew  Stephen  Hayward's  daughter.  Louis's  familiar 
club-room  conversation  on  the  subject  of  women  was 
appreciated  by  few,  the  majority  resented  it. 

Louis  was  furious  when  Stephen  declined  his  invitation 
to  Ranelagh,  and  yet  another,  asking  him  to  dine  with 
him,  to  meet  a  few  friends  at  the  Savoy.  Altogether,  he 
was  in  an  irritable  frame  of  mind  after  he  had  despatched 
his  letter  to  Karl.  Everything  seemed  to  combine  to 
annoy  him. 

He  drove  a  gay  quartette  to  Ranelagh  in  place  of 
Stephen  and  his  daughter,  with  whom  he  had  hoped  to 
grace  his  turnout  at  the  meet,  and  the  gay  quartette  had 
been  practically  all  sufficing.  He  was  not  yet  an  enthu- 
siastic whip,  and  having  his  arm  pulled  nearly  out  of  its 
socket  for  four  hours  did  not  improve  matters.  Then,  at 
Ranelagh,  he  came  face  to  face  with  Constantia  and  Aline 
— and  Aline,  with  her  aunt's  face  rigidly  set  at  his  ap- 
proach, although  he  was  accompanied  by  Lord  Dolly, 
had  made  his  the  barest,  the  tiniest  recognition,  had  been 
oblivious,  or  apparently  oblivious,  of  his  glance.  She 
bowed  timidly,  but  to  Louis  it  seemed  she  bowed  coldly, 
she  averted  her  eyes  from  him,  and  was  afraid  lest  Con- 
stantia should  notice  that  she  bowed  at  all. 

Louis  practically  forced  Lord  Dolly  to  present  him  to 
Stephen's  sister.  Karl's  experience  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances had  amused  the  millionaire;  but  Louis  was 
not  amused  at  being  snubbed,  and  he  resented  Lord 
Dolly's  entertainment  at  his  expense.  Even  the  Lady 
Herodsfoot,  who  cooed  up  to  him  a  moment  afterwards, 
and  asked  for  a  seat  on  his  coach  on  the  way  back  to  town, 
and  told  him  how  his  greys  had  been  admired,  and  what 
the  Prince  had  said,  failed  to  compensate  him  for  the 
Hayward  attitude.  He  walked  about  with  Lily  Herods- 
foot for  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon,  and,  although 
she  found  him  unusually  silent,  she  was  quite  satisfied, 
for  she  used  her  supposed  intimacy  with  the  millionaire's 
brother  as  a  bait  to  fish  for  renewed  credit,  and  she  knew 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  249 

they  would  be  paragraphed  together;  but  Louis  was  not 
satisfied.  He  began  to  feel  women  bored  him ;  he  missed 
Joan's  adoration.  Lady  Violet,  looking  shrewish  in  the 
cold  sunshine,  said  a  bitter  word  or  two  to  his  companion, 
and  Louis  resented  her  too.  She  had  so  obviously  for- 
gotten the  terms  they  had  been,  on  scarcely  a  fortnight 
since.  It  was  all  the  Hayward  fault,  the  Hayward  in- 
fluence ;  he  would  be  even  with  them  yet.  Joan  had  only 
herself  to  blame,  whatever  he  did;  it  was  she  who  had 
left  him. 

He  let  the  man  drive  on  the  way  back.  He  sat  on  the 
box-seat  with  Lady  Herodsfoot,  displacing  his  other 
guests ;  Louis's  manners  fluctuated  with  Louis's  temper. 
Lily  Herodsfoot  had  her  dressmaker  to  consider,  but  she 
winced  a  little  at  Louis's  methods  during  that  drive.  She 
reminded  herself  that  she  looked  upon  him  only  as  a 
means  to  her  dressmaker's  end,  but  she  wished  vaguely 
that  her  own  rakish  Jack  had  been  rich  enough  to  afford 
her  fidelity  to  himself.  But  that,  alas !  was  impossible. 
So  she  praised,  and  wheedled,  and  persuaded  Louis  into 
better  humour,  and,  when  she  arrived  in  Grosvenor 
Square,  her  last  words  were  to  remind  him  that  she  ex- 
pected him  at  her  reception  that  evening.  It  was  no 
temptation  to  him  that  there  would  be  baccarat  after- 
wards ;  perhaps  another  reason  for  Louis's  failure  to 
enlist  the  sympathies  of  those  men  of  the  world  he  most 
frequently  met,  was  that  he  had  none  of  the  thoughtless 
liberality  of  the  gambler. 

He  was  in  half-a-dozen  minds  about  going  to  the  Her- 
odsfoot reception.  So  many  houses  were  open  to  him  in 
Mayfair,  in  Piccadilly,  in  Belgravia — why  should  he  bore 
himself  with  this  silly,  little  woman  who  had  fallen  in 
love  with  him?  But  in  the  end  he  went.  He  had  had  a 
set  of  waistcoat  buttons  made,  the  very  smartest  things 
that  had  ever  been  seen,  enamelled  buttons  resembling 
white  pique,  but  with  a  diamond  in  the  centre.  They  are 
comparatively  common  now,  but  Louis  Althaus  invented 
them,  they  were  seen  for  the  first  time  in  the  season  of 


250  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

1895  at  Lady  Herodsfoot's  reception.  They  almost  re- 
stored Louis's  complacency,  they  certainly  drove  him  to 
the  reception.  It  was  sure  to  be  crowded,  the  best  people 
were  certain  to  be  there ;  it  was  quite  possible  the  buttons 
would  have  a  line  of  comment  in  some  Society  journal, 
they  really  were  unique,  and  in  perfect  taste. 

When,  at  that  crowded  fashionable  reception,  chance 
found  Louis  standing  next  to  Aline  Hayward — Constantia 
nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  the  girl  practically  alone — he 
thought  the  buttons  had  brought  him  luck.  The  Duke, 
Lady  Violet's  father,  was  nominally  in  charge  at  the 
moment — he  had  meant  to  take  her  to  the  supper-room, 
but  an  opportunity  occurred  of  inflicting  a  country  neigh- 
bour with  his  views  on  sheep-rot,  and,  whilst  he  button- 
holed his  patient  listener,  he  forgot  Aline  for  the  time 
being,  and  Louis  rose  to  the  occasion.  His  voice  was  in 
her  ear,  soft,  with  the  rolling  "  r's,"  his  breath  against 
her  cheek. 

"  At  last !   you  will  allow  me  ?" 

Her  hand  was  on  his  arm  even  as  she  started  with 
timid,  quick  recognition  of  his  proximity.  He  knew  the 
way  of  the  house.  He  led  her  skilfully,  piloting  her 
through  the  crowd,  and  they  were  out  of  possible  sight  of 
Constantia,  and  in  the  angle  behind  the  stairs  where  the 
crowd  was  thinnest,  before  the  Duke  had  time  to  notice 
that  he  was  posing  to  an  audience  of  one  instead  of  two. 

"  How  unkind  you  were  to  me  this  afternoon,"  Louis 
said  to  her  reproachfully.  "  What  have  I  done  to  de- 
serve it?" 

i  "  Oh !  you  ought  not  to  have  brought  me  away  like 
this.  I  don't  know  what  Aunt  Constantia  will  say." 

He  pressed  her  arm. 

"  Hush !  never  mind  what  your  Aunt  will  say." 

"  But  I  ought." 

"  Don't  you  like  being  here  with  me  ?" 

"  I  did  not  tell  Aunt  Con  I  danced  with  you  the  other 
night.  Father  thought  I  need  not  tell  her.  That  is  why  I 
couldn't  speak  to  you  this  afternoon ;  she  does  not  know 
I  know  you/' 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  251 

"  Then  it  wasn't  because  you  had  forgotten  me  ?" 

"  No,"  she  said  shyly ;  "  I  hadn't  forgotten  you." 

"  And  you  don't  dislike  me?" 

Standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  stairs  he  went  yet  a  little 
further.  Her  hand  was  on  his  arm,  he  put  his  right  hand 
over  it. 

"  Do  you  dislike  me  ?" 

She  liked  his  hand  over  hers,  although  she  was  nervous 
with  him  to-night,  more  nervous  than  she  had  been 
before ;  but  he  was  so  gentle  and  kind,  the  other  night  he 
had  kissed  her.  Constantia  knew  nothing  of  it ;  but  Con- 
stantia  kissed  her  rarely,  her  father  perfunctorily,  night 
and  morning.  Louis  was  sweet  and  gentle  and  kind. 
Their  solitude  was  not  complete  enough  for  him  to  ven- 
ture far,  but  she  nestled  against  him,  and  her  arm  was 
pressed  against  his  side.  Nobody  had  ever  seemed  so 
kind  to  her. 

"  Did  you  think  I  should  be  satisfied  when  you  bowed 
to  me  like  that?" 

"  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  to  do.  Aunt  Con  is  so 
kind  to  me ;  she  has  always  been  so  kind  to  me." 

"  Am  I  not  kind  to  you  ?  Don't  you  know  I  want  to 
be  kind  to  you  ?" 

"  And  you  don't  think  about  that— that " 

"  I  shall  never  remember  it,  never  remind  you  of  it, 
believe  me."  Abruptly,  suddenly,  she  said  to  him,  a  pro- 
pos  of  nothing. 

"  They  want  me  to  marry  my  cousin  John." 

"And  you?" 

She  paled.  "  I  don't  want  to.  Oh,  I  don't  want  to,  sd 
badly." 

"  Have  you  told  them  so?" 

"  I  have  told  Aunt  Con ;  but  she  thinks  I  ought,  she 
thinks  it  will  be  good  for  my  father." 

"  Does  Lord  John  know ?" 

"  No !"  Her  inclination  was  towards  him,  and  again  he 
pressed  her  arm. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  help  you?" 


252  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"Oh!  can  you?"  Her  eyes  pleaded  with  him  child- 
ishly. 

"  I  can  do  anything.  You  must  leave  yourself  in  my 
hands." 

"  I  don't  want  to  marry  anybody." 

"  Would  you  rather  marry  me  than  Lord  John?" 

She  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two  after  that. 

"I  don't  want  to  marry  anybody,"  she  said  blushing, 
wavering.  And  the  difficulties  about  his  project  fixed 
his  intention  irrevocably,  at  least,  almost  irrevocably. 
Constantia  drove  in  the  final  rivet;  for  a  wave  in  the 
crowd,  an  ebb  in  its  surging  movement,  exposed  Louis 
and  Aline  to  her  view.  Aline,  whom  she  was  seeking, 
for  she  never  liked  her  to  be  long  from  her  side,  was 
under  the  rose-festooned  staircase,  under  the  tropical 
plants,  side  by  side  with  "  that  polyglot  adventurer !" 
They  were  all  "  polyglot  adventurers"  to  Constantia,  all 
the  South  African  magnates.  Of  course,  she  knew  it 
was  possible  to  meet  such  people  at  Lady  Herodsfoot's, 
but  she  did  not  think  she  would  see  one  of  them  side  by 
side  with  Aline. 

"  Oh !  there's  my  aunt,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  holding 
herself  suddenly  away  from  Louis,  nervously  erect  and 
anxious. 

"  All  right ;  don't  worry,  I'll  take  you  to  her.  Leave 
yourself  in  my  hands." 

"  Your  niece  was  quite  alarmed  lest  you  should  miss 
her,"  he  said  in  his  most  fascinating  manner,  with  just 
that  little  turn  to  his  moustache,  just  that  look,  melan- 
choly, appealing,  presupposing  intimacy,  that  he  had 
found  so  effective.  "  I  promised  I  would  find  you  for 
her ;  I  hope  you  have  not  been  uneasy  on  her  account." 

Constantia  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  "  The  man  was 
odious,"  she  told  Stephen  afterwards,  "  he  simpered  at 
me,  he  leered.  How  they  can  tolerate  such  people  is 
more  than  I  can  understand."  She  recovered  Aline  from 
him  without  the  smallest  acknowledgment  of  his  speech, 
of  his  courtesy. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  253 

"  Damn  her,"  said  Louis  to  himself,  under  his  breath. 
"  If  I  thought  it  would  do  me  any  good,  I'd  take  the  girl 
away  from  her  now — under  her  very  nose.  I'll  make  her 
look  at  me  before  she's  done." 

"  John,  will  you  see  if  our  carriage  is  there,  please  ? 
Aline  is  indisposed,  tired." 

Aline  had  not  spoken;  but  the  appeal  in  Louis's  fine 
eyes  touched  her,  if  it  did  not  touch  her  aunt.  She  was 
sorry  for  Louis,  being  only  a  child  with  a  child's  heart. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Aunt,"  she  said  timorously. 

"  I  know,  dear."  Con  was  never  harsh  with  Aline,  she 
always  felt  she  owed  her  something,  some  motherliness 
that  had  failed  her,  that  made  the  failure  in  her. 

"  How  came  you  with  that  fellow  ?"  asked  John,  as  he 
stood  beside  them  in  the  hall  waiting  for  the  carriage  to 
be  announced. 

Con  answered  for  her.  "  It  was  your  uncle,  he  is  so 
absent-minded.  Aline  was  with  him,  but  he  was  button- 
holed by  Mr.  Fowler,  and  they  left  Aline  alone.  Some- 
how or  other  John  knew  that  Aline  was  not  like  other 
girls,  that  she  wanted  more  care  perhaps.  It  did  not 
repel  him,  he  thought  girls  should  be  timid,  dependent, 
feminine. 

"  May  I  come  up  in  the  morning  ?"  he  said,  as  he  put 
them  into  the  brougham,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  Stephen." 

"  Indeed,  John,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,"  answered 
Constantia  cordially. 

Aline  thought  of  Louis's  promised  kindness,  of  the 
warm  pressure  of  his  hand,  of  his  handsome  eyes.  Con- 
stantia thought  how  good  it  would  be  to  hand  Aline  into 
John's  strong  keeping.  To-morrow  he  would  ask  Stephen 
again  for  his  answer.  She  would  strongly  urge  an 
affirmative,  if  necessary  she  would  insist.  Aline  should 
marry  John,  and  then  she,  Constantia,  could  let  her  con- 
science rest.  She  would  have  achieved  all,  and  more  than 
all,  that  Angela  could  have  done  for  her  daughter.  The 
Marquis's  son  represented  more  than  his  father's  political 
position.  He  meant  vast  estates  and  safety,  and  event- 


254  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

nally  the  Marquisate.  Surely  she  had  redeemed  any 
disregard  of  Angela,  any  neglect  of  Aline  in  those  early 
days.  There  would  be  no  recrudescence,  no  possible  re- 
crudescence of  that  ugly  past  once  she  was  John's  honored 
•wife.  And  no  one  would  ever  be  the  wiser. 

It  seemed  as  if  everything  would  come  about  as  Con- 
stantia  had  wished,  for  the  very  next  morning  John 
sought  Stephen  in  his  study  and  formally  asked  again  for 
his  daughter's  hand ;  and  Stephen,  duly  coached  by  Con, 
and  strengthened  by  his  knowledge  of  his  chief's  approval, 
cordially  promised  his  support.  Nothing  was  said  about 
the  jockey;  Stephen  had  almost  permitted  himself  to 
forget  him.  There  was  a  question  as  to  whether  Aline 
on  this  occasion  would  do  what  she  was  told,  would  obey 
orders ;  pressure,  of  course,  must  not  be  used.  But  Aline 
could  be  gently  reminded  how  she  had  fared  when  she 
had  acted  for  herself,  she  could  be  tenderly  urged,  if  not 
coerced,  into  accepting  the  proffered  honour.  It  was  no 
new  thing,  it  had  been  understood  by  her  for  some  time. 

John  stayed  to  lunch,  and  after  lunch  they  left  him 
alone  with  Aline. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  married,  John,"  she  said  piteously. 

John  did  not  very  much  want  to  be  married  himself; 
but  he  wanted  much  less  that  Cecil,  his  younger  brother, 
or  Cecil's  "  beastly  boys,"  should  ever  inherit  the  family 
estates. 

"  Oh,  we  shall  shake  down  together  all  right,"  he  said 
easily,  "  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  be  much  in  each  other's 
way.  And  you've  got  to  marry  some  one  or  other,  all 
girls  do."  She  realised  that.  "  You'll  be  just  as  well  off 
with  me  as  here ;  your  father  and  Constantia  have  always 
palled  in  together,  you're  only  in  the  way  with  them. 
I've  got  to  get  married,  too,  you  know,  on  account  of  the 
succession,  and  I  hate  the  sort  of  girl,  like  Vi,  who  takes 
care  of  herself,  and  smokes  and  bets.  You  don't  smoke 
or  bet,  do  you  ?" 

"  No ;  I  don't  do  anything  Aunt  Con  does  not  tell  me," 
she  replied  ingenuously. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  255 

"  Well,  we  can  go  and  tell  her,  then,  it's  settled,  can't 
we?" 

But  Constantia  did  not  leave  them  long  enough  alone 
to  necessitate  their  going  to  her.  She  joined  them  in  the 
drawing-room  in  a  very  short  time. 

"  It's  all  right,  Aunt  Con ;  Aline  says  she'll  have  me," 
John  said.  Constantia  was  expansive  in  her  satisfaction ; 
she  kissed  her  niece,  tendered  her  cheek  to  John,  and 
promptly  sat  down  at  the  little  writing-table  that  stood 
in  the  bow-window,  the  bow-legged  writing-table  with 
the  wonderful  Louis  Seize  mounts  and  red  lacquered 
interior,  and  worded  the  announcement  for  the  papers. 

"  A  marriage  has  been  arranged,  and  will  take  place  at 
the  end  of  the  season,  between  Lord  John  Cranbury, 
eldest  son  of  the  Marquis  of  Jevington,  and  Aline,  only 
daughter  of  the  Honourable  Stephen  Hayward,  and  the 
late  Lady  Angela  Hayward." 

The  very  next  day  the  announcement  was  in  The  Times 
and  The  Morning  Post.  Louis  saw  it,  naturally.  All  his 
cards,  or  Karl's  cards,  seemed  slipping  from  him.  He 
lost  his  head  in  the  emergency.  He  thought  Karl  would 
think  him  a  boastful  fool  when  he  read  his  letters, 
together  with  the  announcement  which  would  probably 
arrive  by  the  same  post.  He  hated  Karl  to  think  him 
a  fool.  If  he  had  an  expressed  contempt  for  Karl's 
clothes,  habits,  Imperial  sympathies,  he  had  a  very  real 
and  deep-rooted  respect  for  his  judgments,  for  his  opin- 
ion. He  always  wanted  Karl's  good  opinion,  the  very 
steps  he  had  taken  to  lose  it  had  been  taken  with  a  view 
to  acquiring  it.  He  wanted  Karl  to  think  him  a  very 
clever  and  dashing  fellow,  diplomat  and  financier.  He 
would  have  cheated  him  of  the  mine  so  that  Karl  should 
have  admired  his  sharpness.  He  had  heard  Karl  admire 
the  astuteness  of  the  people  who  had  cheated  him.  Now 
Karl  would  think  him  a  fool.  Yet  Louis  was  sure  that 
Stephen  Hayward  liked  him,  even  if  his  exclusive  sister 
had,  perhaps,  persuaded  him  not  to  show  it.  Why  else 
had  he  invited  him  twice  to  the  Club?  It  never  struck 


256  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Louis  that  it  was  for  Karl's  sake ;  Karl  was  such  a  rough 
diamond,  not  Stephen  Hayward's  style  at  all,  he  thought. 

In  his  vanity,  in  his  anxiety  to  right  himself  with  Karl, 
Louis  went  to  Stephen,  sought  him  at  the  Club,  ran  him 
aground  in  the  reading-room. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  Louis  began.  Stephen  put 
his  book  down  resignedly. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  quite  at  your  disposal." 

"  We  can't  talk  here." 

The  room  was  fairly  full.  Buried  in  easy-chairs,  or 
sitting  upright  in  leather-covered  ones  with  wooden  arms, 
behind  newspapers  or  wrapped  in  vacuity,  were  half  a 
score  of  fogies.  Stephen  looked  around. 

"  Seriously  now — I  want  to  speak  to  you  seriously." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  isn't  Ripon  you  want?"  Stephen  said, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  Stephen  was  too  content,  too 
happy  in  the  coming  marriage,  in  the  coming  election, 
and  his  prospects,  to  remember  to  resent  Louis.  Louis, 
when  he  had  talked  South  African  politics  with  Stephen, 
had  openly  given  it  as  his  opinion  that  Karl  was  wrong 
in  thinking  Stephen  Hayward  had  any  influence  or  power 
in  the  Cabinet  or  out  of  it,  was  wrong  in  applying  to 
anybody  for  ministerial  support  in  Pretoria,  except  the 
Liberal  Colonial  Secretary. 

"  No !  no !  it's  a  private  matter.  It's  nothing  to  do 
with  South  Africa.  I  wish  you  would  come  up  to  my 
rooms ;  they  are  not  five  minutes  from  here." 

"  You  are  living  in  your  brother's  old  rooms,  are  you 
not?"  said  Stephen,  getting  up  and  stretching  himself. 
He  remembered  those  rooms,  and  the  Abbotsford  Turn- 
ers; the  only  things  he  had  ever  envied  a  millionaire 
were  those  Abbotsford  Turners  and  the  Oliver  miniatures. 
He  really  wanted  to  see  them  again.  It  did  not  seem  a 
great  matter  to  stroll  with  Louis  Althaus  a  few  doors 
down  Piccadilly.  He  did  not  wonder  what  the  man  might 
have  to  say  to  him.  So  many  people  had  something  to 
say  to  him  since  the  doom  of  the  Liberal  party  had  been 
sealed,  grievances  to  air,  or  claims  to  accentuate.  He 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  257 

had  the  ear  of  Jevington,  and  it  was  supposed  that  Jev- 
ington  influenced  Lord  Sarum.  He  did  not  like  Louis 
Althaus,  but  then  there  were  so  many  people  he  did  not 
like. 

"  When  is  your  brother  coming  home  ?"  he  asked  Louis. 
"  That  is  a  very  remarkable  man,  that  brother  of  yours," 
he  said. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  Louis,  surprised.  "  Roughish, 
isn't  he?  Old  Karl,  I  shouldn't  have  thought,  now,  you 
would  have  cared  for  old  Karl;  but  I  tell  you  what,  he 
is  one  of  the  richest  men  in  South  Africa,  one  of  the  very 
richest.  It's  about  that,  it's  something  about  that,"  he 
corrected  himself,  "  at  least,  that  has  some  bearing  upon 
what  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about." 

"  Oh !"  Stephen  elevated  his  brows.  Certainly  he  did 
not  like  Louis  Althaus. 

The  rooms  looked  very  much  as  they  did  when  he  was 
in  them  before.  The  screen  was  still  hung  with  Raphael 
Morghen  engravings,  the  Abbottsford  Turners  continued 
to  adorn  the  panels  in  the  oaken  library. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  the  setting  isn't  too  heavy.  Not 
at  all  sure  I  wouldn't  prefer  a  dead  level  wall,  neutral 
tinted  canvas,  and  just  the  pictures  without  that  distract- 
ing carving." 

He  spoke  his  thoughts  aloud,  thoughts  that  had  been 
with  him  when  he  was  last  here,  and  he  had  envied  the 
millionaire  so  few  of  all  his  possessions. 

"  Oh,  you  are  looking  at  the  pictures,"  said  Louis  in- 
differently, leading  the  way,  but  turning  round  and  inter- 
cepting his  glance. 

"  Stumers,  I  suppose  ?  Karl  goes  in  for  art,  you  know. 
His  father  was  a  bric-a-brac  dealer.  It  runs  in  the  blood, 
I  think.  All  the  Jews  either  buy  or  sell  works  of  art. 
Curious,  isn't  it?  I've  often  noticed  it." 

"  You  wanted  to  speak  to  me  ?"  answered  Stephen 
coldly,  not  taking  the  offered  seat.  He  wished  he  had 
not  come;  what  a  cad  the  fellow  was!  How  different 
from  his  adopted  brother.  He  took  out  his  watch. 

17 


258  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  I  forgot  I  had  an  appointment.  I  really  can  only 
spare  you  a  couple  of  minutes.  I  have  to  meet  my  future 
son-in-law." 

"  Yes ;  it's  about  that  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  About — that?"  Stephen  grew  nervous  with  his 
amazement,  and  dropped  his  glasses.  "  What  on  earth — 
I  beg  your  pardon." 

Louis  interrupted  him  smilingly. 

"  You  are  surprised  that  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about 
this  engagement.  Would  you  be  surprised  to  hear  my 
brother  had  told  me  all  your  daughter's  story?" 

"  Very,"  Stephen  said.  He  was  surprised,  startled 
almost  out  of  composure.  "  Very,"  he  repeated,  his  face 
flushing. 

"  Not  that  it  makes  any  difference  to  me.  No !  I'm 
not  the  sort  of  man  to  bring  a  girlish  escapade  like  that 
up  against  her." 

The  colour  slowly  deepened  in  Stephen's  face. 

"  I  said  to  Karl  at  the  time,  girls  will  be  girls.  If  I  took 
a  fancy  to  her,  it  wouldn't  stand  in  my  way." 

Stephen  was  so  rarely  angry.  He  was  startled  now  to 
know  how  angry  he  was;  his  breath  was  coming  irregu- 
larly, his  heart  beating  quickly. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  with  me,  Mr.  Althaus  ?" 

Louis,  with  his  egregious  smile,  his  complete  self-satis- 
faction, thought  he  was  getting  on  swimmingly;  it  was 
with  almost  a  patronising  smile  he  answered,  subsiding 
gracefully  into  a  seat : 

"  I  want  you  to  break  off  this  engagement  with  her 
cousin ;  I  want  you  to  give  your  daughter  to  me  instead. 
No,  please,"  he  raised  his  hand,  "  please  don't  answer 
quickly.  I  know  it  is  a  surprising  request.  You  think  I 
hardly  know  her — you  think  that  old  affair " 

Louis  wanted  to  blurt  out  how  very  rich  was  Karl ;  he 
remembered  that  the  Haywards  had  nothing,  practically 
nothing. 

"  I  think,"  said  Stephen,  cutting  into  the  other's  ex- 
planatoriness,  "  I  think  you  are  insolent,  sir,  insolent !" 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  259 

And  he  turned  on  his  heel  to  leave  the  room.  He  really 
could  not  trust  himself.  Louis  rose  too. 

"  Insolent !  Insolent !  What  do  you  mean  by  inso- 
lent?" he  hurried  out.  "Do  you  know  how  much  we've 
got?" 

Stephen  stopped  a  moment,  and  looked  at  the  man 
before  him.  Did  he  know  how  much  they  had  ?  The  very 
phrase  explained  the  possibility  of  his  daring  to  make 
such  a  proposition  to  him,  Stephen  Hayward ;  the  very 
phrase  calmed  him.  Louis  could  never  have  compre- 
hended how  Stephen's  blood  had  boiled  within  him,  how 
little  his  estimate  of  the  class  to  which  Louis  belonged 
really  differed  from  his  sister's.  That  the  fellow  should 
dare  to  ask,  to  contemplate,  a  Hayward  alliance,  that  he 
should  so  misunderstand  the  toleration  with  which  his 
presence  in  Society  had  been  met  was  incredible ! 

"  I  have  nothing  to  add,"  Stephen  said  coldly.  "  Let 
me  pass,  please."  But  Louis  stood  between  him  and  the 
door.  Furious  he  was,  too;  his  fury  drove  the  blood 
from  his  cheeks  and  lips,  his  mouth  grew  spiteful,  the 
pupils  of  his  eyes  contracted. 

"  What  do  you  think  Lord  John  will  say  to  that  old 
story  ?  Wait  a  minute,  wait !  What  will  her  aunts  and 
uncles  say?  Supposing  I  were  to — "  Stephen  waved 
him  aside  contemptuously. 

"  I  neither  know  nor  care  what  any  one  will  say  about 
some  old  unauthenticated  story  you  have  fished  up.  I  do 
*your  brother  the  justice  of  believing  he  has  had  no  hand 
in  your  attempted  blackmail.  My  daughter's  first  mar- 
riage was  a  misfortune" — Louis  did  not  know  there  had 
been  a  marriage;  Aline  had  been  confused  in  speaking, 
and  his  foregone  conclusion  had  been  unshaken.  The 
blow  staggered  him ;  he  moved  forward  a  little  in  his 
astonishment.  Stephen  used  this  opportunity  to  get  nearer 
the  door,  finishing  his  sentence,  coolly,  with  his  hand  on 
the  handle — "  but  still,  the  misfortune  of  that  marriage 
was  a  trifle  compared  with  the  disgust  with  which  she  and 
I,  sir — yes,  she  and  I — would  look  upon  an  alliance  with 


260  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

you."  He  got  even  cooler  as  he  spoke.  With  his  hand 
still  on  the  door  handle,  he  added  calmly,  "  I  beg  to  de- 
cline your  offer — it  was  an  impertinence." 

The  door  closed  behind  him.  He  got  into  the  hall,  the 
street,  but  he  recovered  slowly.  He  had  had  an  instinct 
against  Louis,  a  loathing.  He  reasoned  with  himself.  He 
would  not  thus  have  answered  Karl,  though  Karl  had 
wheeled  a  barrow  in  the  streets ;  it  was  not  entirely  class 
prejudice. 

"  Phew !  the  fellow  makes  me  sick,"  was  his  reflection. 
He  got  back  into  the  shelter  of  his  club,  and  tried  to  ana- 
lyse his  rage,  and  rid  himself  of  its  effects.  His  self- 
respect  had  been  outraged  by  Louis's  proposal. 

Louis's  anger  at  the  refusal  of  it,  and  the  manner  of 
the  refusal,  was  of  a  different  calibre.  It  seemed  to  drive 
Joan  and  her  claims  completely  out  of  his  head ;  he  could 
think  of  nothing  now  but  how  to  be  revenged  upon  the 
Hay  wards.  Even  the  settlements  that  Karl  was  to  make 
became  subsidiary  to  this.  He  would  marry  the  girl — he 
would  marry  her  with  or  without  their  consent.  He  swore 
it  to  himself.  His  desire  for  revenge  brightened  his  wits. 
He  lost  no  time  in  putting  himself  into  communication 
with  Aline;  he  had  not  to  invent  anything  new,  the  old 
methods  were  good  enough.  He  had  but  to  tell  his  man 
to  seek  out  the  Hayward's  maid ;  he  had  but  to  mark  his 
course,  and  bribe  it  open  for  him. 

The  weeks  that  followed  were  for  Louis  full  of  in- 
trigue, plot,  and  self-control.  It  was  the  July  when  the 
boom  was  at  its  height.  The  Althaus  Bank  was  launched 
under  wonderful  auspices,  launched  at  three  pounds  pre- 
mium on  the  one  pound  shares.  Louis  put  many  of  his 
friends  in  at  par.  Not  that  he  liked  giving  anything 
away,  but  his  intellect  was  sharpened  just  now,  and  he 
saw  the  necessity.  Society  sought  him,  hung  about  him, 
open-mouthed,  with  gaping  eyes  and  pockets;  with  gold 
he  plied  the  avid  women,  and  with  soft  words  and  smiles. 
They  sympathised  with  him  when  he  complained  of  the 
set  the  Hayward  faction  made  against  him.  One  or  two 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  261 

bold  ones  spoke  to  Constantia  about  him;  unfortunately 
Stephen  had  kept  his  counsel  about  Louis's  proposal. 
When  his  rage  grew  cold,  and  the  emotion  of  the  mo- 
ment had  passed,  he  smiled  at  himself  for  having  been  so 
moved.  He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  provoke  a  lecture 
from  Constantia  by  telling  her  what  his  imprudent  ac- 
quaintance had  made  possible.  He  had  no  thought  of 
danger  for  Aline,  for,  with  Constantia  and  John,  it  seemed 
to  him  she  was  well  guarded.  It  struck  him,  of  course, 
at  the  moment  that  Louis,  being  a  cad,  might  hint  at  or 
tell  the  old  story;  but,  when  the  days  went  by,  and  he 
heard  nothing,  he  set  down  the  threat,  or  implied  threat, 
as  an  empty  one,  spoken  in  the  heat  of  the  moment.  "  We 
both  lost  our  tempers,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  dare  say 
the  fellow  isn't  as  bad  as  I  made  out;  anyway,  he  has 
nothing  to  gain  by  gossiping." 

The  fellow  had  nothing  to  gain  by  telling  the  story, 
everything  to  gain  by  knowing  there  was  one.  It  was 
through  Aline's  fears  he  worked,  through  her  undevel- 
oped will  and  understanding.  Con's  vigilance  was  eluded 
in  crowded  assemblies — for  every  crowded  assembly  had 
now  the  privilege  of  numbering  Louis  Althaus  among  its 
items — on  race-courses,  where  rare  chaperons  were  de- 
puted to  take  Con's  place,  and  John  played  vigilant  escort 
when  the  horses  were  not  running,  or  after  they  had 
passed  the  ordeal  of  the  judge.  But  Louis  was  vigilant 
while  John's  horses  were  being  gently  walked  about  the 
j^addock,  were  kicking  at  the  starting-post,  or  flashing  past 
the  judge's  chair  in  this  or  the  other  order.  Aline  got 
used  to  the  low  voice  in  her  ear,  came  to  look  for  Louis's 
beauty,  his  gentle  love-making,  his  arguments,  to  scheme, 
too,  to  be  alone  with  him  where  he  could  kiss  and  caress 
her,  and  fill  her  poor  cramped  mind  with  visions  of  him. 
Undeveloped  child,  or  arrested  woman,  there  were  yet  in 
her  many  capacities  that  neither  Stephen  nor  Constantia 
had  recognised;  neither  of  them  were  psychologists. 
Everything  she  ought  to  have  remembered  she  had  for- 
gotten. She  was  dangerously  receptive  to  Louis's  love- 


262  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

making;  a  doctor  might  have  warned  them,  but  no  one 
warned  them.  And  Louis,  professional  almost  in  his  rec- 
ognition of  temperament,  moved  her  subtly  and  warily, 
but  very  easily,  as  he  wished  her  to  be  moved. 

Aline  took  morning  walks  with  her  maid — a  maid  sus- 
ceptible to  sovereigns.  And  John  was  careless  in  his 
security ;  the  trousseau  was  being  made,  wedding  presents 
were  being  received.  After  Goodwood  he  and  Aline 
would  borrow  the  Duke's  place  in  Scotland  for  a  short 
honeymoon. 

"  You  don't  mind  if  I  have  some  fellows  up  for  the 
twelfth,  do  you?"  asked  John  of  his  bride  that  was  to 
be.  "  We  shall  be  pretty  sick  of  each  other  by  then,  and 
it  will  just  come  in  at  the  right  time.  Con  will  come  and 
help  you  with  the  women.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

She  said  she  was  quite  satisfied.  She  was  quite  satis- 
fied with  everything  —  clothes,  presents,  arrangements 
generally.  She  had  somehow  or  other  brightened  and 
softened,  she  looked  charming.  Some  of  the  alertness  of 
her  childhood  seemed  to  have  come  back  to  her. 

"  Is  she  in  love  with  you  ?"  Lady  Violet  asked  John 
satirically. 

"  Seems  like  it,"  said  John  contentedly,  glancing  over 
to  where  she  sat  at  dinner,  at  the  right  hand  of  his  father, 
the  diamonds  in  her  hair  reflected  in  her  eyes.  Her  lips 
were  brilliantly  scarlet,  she  was  not  talking — Aline  rarely 
talked,  but  she  looked  happy,  excited,  bridal. 

"  She's  rippin'  handsome,  isn't  she  ?"  asked  John  ad- 
miringly. "  Of  course  it  was  the  Governor's  idea,  he 
can't  do  without  Stephen.  But  it's  turning  out  very  well. 
There's  nothing  in  the  room  can  touch  her  for  looks." 
He  had  all  the  sense  of  proprietorship  and  satisfaction, 
in  glancing  at  her  across  the  table,  that  he  would  have  had 
if,  in  his  own  stables,  he  had  found  a  possible  Derby  win- 
ner. "  And  she'll  come  on,  too,  you'll  see,  she'll  fill  out," 
he  said  reflectively.  He  was  not  at  all  emotional,  but  he 
tried  to  catch  Aline's  eye  across  the  table.  He  would  have 
liked  to  signify  his  pleasure  and  approval,  but  he  failed  in 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  263 

catching  her  eye ;  she  had  forgotten  John.  He  drank  his 
wine  and  finished  his  dinner  contentedly  enough,  never- 
theless. 

"  What  a  little  cat  you  are !"  was  all  his  comment  when 
Lady  Violet  cross-examined  him  as  to  Aline's  social  and 
intellectual  powers.  He  was  quite  satisfied  with  both. 
"  Every  inch  a  breeder,"  was  his  own  comment  on  the 
girl's  aristocratic  air  and  pose.  Who  the  deuce  wanted  an 
intellectual  wife.  Not  John;  he  talked  horses  with  Vi, 
in  which  she  was  acute,  Ruff's  Guide,  in  which  she  was 
well-read.  Lady  Violet  and  he  had  a  thousand  things  in 
common,  but  Aline  seemed  an  ideal  wife  for  him. 

He  supposed  she  was  in  love  with  him,  though  she 
shrank  from  his  rarely  offered  caresses.  He  rather  liked 
her  for  that;  he  was  not  a  particularly  demonstrative 
man  himself,  and  it  suited  his  idea  of  the  fitness  of  things 
that  Aline  should  be  cold.  So  he  talked  to  Vi  and  looked 
at  Aline,  and  was  supremely  content,  after  the  ladies  had 
left  the  room,  to  linger  over  his  wine  and  continue  his 
racing  gossip  with  the  Hon.  Jack  Alford  of  the  Turf  and 
Jockey  Club,  who  sat  on  Committees  with  him  and  was 
also  versed  in  form. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 


IT  is  extraordinary  what  actions  are  possible  for  a  well- 
guarded  young  lady  with  a  venal  maid. 

Aline,  with  the  love-light  in  her  eyes,  was  happy  that 
night  at  the  Duke's  dinner-party.  That  morning  her  maid 
had  done  the  shopping  alone.  She  had  taken  Aline  to 
Karl's  rooms  in  Piccadilly,  where  Louis  now  reigned  lord 
and  master,  and  she  had  fetched  her  from  those  rooms 
two  hours  later.  Half  a  year's  wages  she  earned  as  easily 
as  nothing,  and  there  was  plenty  more  to  come,  Louis  told 
her,  if  she  held  her  tongue  and  did  as  she  was  told.  Louis 
— but  it  is  never  worth  while  to  analyse  Louis's  feelings. 
Aline's  society  made  him  remember  Joan,  and  when  he 
remembered  Joan  he  was  uncomfortable,  almost  more 
than  uncomfortable  by  now. 

He  wanted  to  see  Joan  again,  he  wanted  her  to  write  to 
him;  he  realised  that  she  had  a  hold  on  him,  he  knew 
that  what  he  had  told  her  was  true,  that  he  had  never 
loved  another  woman  so  well.  It  was  with  difficulty, 
always  increasing,  that  he  pushed  the  memory  of  her 
away  from  him. 

As  for  Aline,  the  girl  was  dull  of  wit,  but  she  put  it  in 
his  power  to  make  Stephen  regret  that  word  "  insolent," 
she  made  it  possible  for  him  to  take  revenge  on  Con- 
stantia  for  her  contempt,  on  John  for  his  indifference, 
on  the  Hayward  clique  and  family  for  their  ostracism. 
What  form  his  revenge  should  take  was  a  detail  about 
which  he  was  not  particularly  clear.  If  his  was  an  evil 
temper,  it  was  a  temper  no  stronger  nor  wider  than  the 
man  himself,  it  was,  so  to  speak,  a  small,  evil  temper. 
Getting  his  own  way  soothed  it.  He  was  in  half-a-dozen 
minds  as  to  his  course  of  action,  when  Karl's  cable  came 
264 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  265 

in  answer  to  that  very  letter,  the  possible  effect  of  which 
had  driven  him  to  speak  to  Stephen  so  hastily.  Karl  was 
reckless  in  cabling  to  Louis : 

"  Overjoyed  at  proposed  marriage  nothing  could  suit 
better  secure  Imperial  interest.  Cabling  Hayward  will 
make  any  arrangements  for  settlements  he  requires." 

Thus  Karl  acted  the  Deus  ex  machind,  and  precipitated 
matters  prematurely.  The  cablegram  arrived  in  the  even- 
ing, the  very  evening,  in  fact,  of  the  ducal  dinner-party. 
Louis  calculated,  and  calculated  correctly,  that  the  one 
intended  for  Stephen  would  have  been  sent  to  Westmin- 
ster, and  Stephen  would  not  receive  it  until  the  morning. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Stephen  was  in  Scotland,  on  a  hur- 
ried visit  connected  with  the  Council  of  Education,  and 
it  was  a  week  before  he  read  the  message,  which  was  then 
no  longer  cryptographic. 

As  it  was,  Louis  thought  he  was  bound  to  act  precipi- 
tately, and  therefore  he  blamed  Karl.  All  the  following 
morning,  when  he  was  getting  a  special  licence,  making 
arrangements  at  a  convenient  church,  instructing  the  maid 
and  securing  Aline's  presence,  he  was  blaming  Karl  for 
driving  him  into  premature  action,  he  was  thinking  of 
Joan,  and  feeling  encumbered  with  the  prospect  of  Aline's 
companionship.  He  had  it  ever  in  the  background  of  his 
mind,  where  he  had  thrust  Joan's  image,  that  she  would 
forgive  him  his  hasty  marriage,  that  she  would  know 
it  was  Karl's  fault,  that  he  would  one  day,  one  vague 
day,  ask  her  for  sympathy,  and  let  her  comfort  him  for 
having  been  thrust  into  such  a  position  by  Karl's  impul- 
siveness. 

In  the  meanwhile,  he  completed  his  preparations,  went 
back  to  Aline  in  Piccadilly,  found  her  waiting  patiently 
for  him  with  her  maid,  drove  them  both  down  in  his 
brougham  to  the  little  church  in  Margaret  Street,  and  was 
married  before  he  had  quite  decided  what  should  be  his 
next  step. 

Stephen's  absence  in  Scotland,  of  which  they  told  him, 
assured  him  safety  from  discovery  for  a  few  more  hours. 


266  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

He  sent  the  maid  back  to  Grosvenor  Street  to  smuggle  out 
such  clothes  and  jewellery  as  were  possible. 

There  would  be  a  hullabaloo,  there  was  bound  to  be  an 
outcry.  John,  strong  and  stalwart,  might  take  active  steps. 
Louis  did  not  specify  what  steps  John  might  take,  but  he 
said  to  himself  that  anything  in  the  way  of  a  fracas  would 
be  undignified!  Louis  was  not  handy  with  his  fists,  and, 
like  most  men  to  whom  libertinism  was  a  habit,  he  had 
in  early  days  known  the  taste  of  a  horsewhip  across  his 
back.  Taking  everything  into  consideration,  "  facing  the 
music"  made  no  appeal  to  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  interesting  to  hear  the 
details  of  Karl's  proposed  settlements;  he  had  no  doubt 
of  Karl's  generous  affection,  but  there  was  nothing  like 
certainty.  The  season  was  so  nearly  over ;  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  to  appear  at  Ascot,  shooting  parties  were 
hardly  in  his  line,  and  there  was  nothing  in  the  mining 
market  to  keep  him  in  England.  The  flotation  of  the 
Althaus  Bank,  and  its  extraordinary  success,  seemed  to 
have  been  the  signal  for  a  general  diminution  of  business, 
for  a  general  fall  in  values,  or  fictitious  values.  The 
orders  from  South  Africa,  couched  in  enigmatic  language, 
all  spelt  "  stop,"  or  "  go  slow,"  anyway  they  put  the 
damper  completely  on  speculation,  and  encouraged,  at 
least  in  the  Althaus  office,  the  opinion  that  the  bears  were 
in  for  a  field  day,  and  not  before  it  was  their  due.  They 
shortened  sail  in  the  Althaus  office,  and  prepared  for 
squalls. 

Altogether,  there  seemed  nothing  to  detain  Louis  in 
England,  nothing  to  prevent  him  taking  his  aristocratic 
bride  to  his  brother,  to  receive  personally  his  congratula- 
tions, and  anything  else  with  which  he  might  wish  to 
endow  them. 

Louis,  not  being  introspective,  did  not  contrast,  more 
than  he  could  help,  his  voyage  in  the  Arizona  with  Joan 
on  his  way  to  England  with  his  voyage  in  the  Memphis 
with  Aline,  eight  months  later,  on  his  return  to  South 
Africa. 


267 

Aline  had  the  manners  and  habits  of  her  class,  was 
carefully  dressed  and  attended  by  her  maid  three  or  four 
times  a  day,  was  coifed  and  manicured,  sent  forward  with 
her  parasol  and  her  handkerchief  to  take  her  seat  on  her 
deck-chair,  and  was  even  supplied  with  a  novel  and  a 
footstool.  Louis  became  proud  of  her ;  he  told  her  pedi- 
gree, or,  at  least,  her  relationship  to  the  former  Under- 
secretary of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs,  to  as  many  of  his 
fellow-voyagers  as  gave  him  the  opportunity.  He  intro- 
duced people  to  her,  often  he  stood  by  her  chair.  At  first 
he  had  drawn  her  attention  to  sky  and  sea,  to  phenomena 
of  salt  spray  and  colour-effects ;  it  had  given  him  pleasure 
to  remember  the  things  Joan  had  said  to  him,  and  to 
repeat  them,  imagining  himself  poetic,  and  an  observer 
of  Nature.  But  Aline's  lack  of  interest  gradually  chilled 
his  reminiscent  ardour.  Aline's  lack  of  interest  seemed 
her  most  prevailing  characteristic.  He  frequently  yawned 
when  he  stood  attentively  by  her  chair,  yet  he  was  more 
satisfied  than  he  had  expected  to  be  with  the  wife  he  had 
won.  After  all,  her  birth  and  breeding  impressed  him, 
and  that  she  had  no  conversation  and  no  mind  did  not 
detract  from  her  value  as  an  addendum  to  his  personal 
consequence.  Her  maid  was  brighter,  smarter,  more 
appreciative,  altogether  better  to  Louis's  taste,  as  a  com- 
panion. They  had  frequent  consultations  together  as  to 
Aline's  toilettes  and  other  things.  Altogether,  though  the 
voyage  back  seemed  infinitely  longer  than  the  voyage  out, 
it  was  not  impossibly  tedious.  There  were  many  ladies 
on  board,  one  or  two  of  the  smaller  fry  of  Cape  Town 
financiers,  and  Louis's  self-esteem  was  always  being  fed 
and  petted  and  his  temper  kept  sweet.  Aline  was  still  in 
love  with  him,  very  happy  and  content.  Under  Louis's 
dictation  she  had  written  to  her  father  and  Aunt  Con  to 
tell  them  so.  She  hoped  they  would  forgive  her  for  not 
awaiting  their  consent,  but  she  could  not  bear  John,  and 
she  loved  Louis,  and  often  Aunt  Con  had  said  she  wanted 
her  to  be  happy,  and,  then,  many  great  families  had  their 
origin  in  wealth,  so  the  line  of  demarcation  Aunt  Con 


268  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

had  drawn  was  merely  an  artificial  one.  Louis  had  been 
very  proud  of  the  wording  of  Aline's  letter ;  the  last  trace 
of  irritation  against  Stephen  and  Con  went  as  he  dictated 
it.  It  gave  him  back  his  self-confidence. 

Karl  met  them  at  Cape  Town,  and  came  on  board  in 
the  tug. 

"  Well,  Louis,  old  boy,  well,  so  you  have  brought  your 
wife  out  here  for  her  honeymoon." 

"  Dear  old  man,"  Louis  answered  affectionately,  "  I 
didn't  feel  I  was  properly  married  until  you'd  seen  her, 
and  given  us  your  fraternal  blessing !" 

"  Oh !  you  shall  have  my  blessing  right  enough,  and 
something  besides."  They  shook  hands,  patted  each 
other's  shoulders,  were  altogether  a  little  more  demonstra- 
tive than  Englishmen  would  have  been. 

"  It  was  a  splendid  move,  an  excellent  move,  nothing 
could  have  pleased  me  better;  and  you  seemed  to  have 
fixed  it  up  so  quickly  too — taken  time  by  the  forelock,  eh ! 
and  tweaked  it.  What  did  Stephen  say  to  the  hurry,  and 
that  stiff  sister  of  his?  It  was  awfully  good  of  him  to 
send  us  the  sign  we  had  been  waiting  for.  How  did  you 
manage  to  persuade  them?  You  must  tell  me  all  about 
it.  I  suppose  it  was  the  Jackson  affair  that  clinched  it; 
they  can't  afford  to  sit  still  and  let  the  world  see  that 
Englishmen  can't  count  on  their  Government  when  they 
are  wronged  and  oppressed.  I  was  surprised  to  get  your 
cable  that  you  were  coming  out.  No  waiting  for  settle- 
ments or  anything.  Hayward  never  answered  my  mes- 
sage ;  took  it  on  trust,  I  suppose.  Well,  he  won't  suffer  for 
it,  nor  she  either.  He's  behaved  well  to  you,  Louis,  and 
to  us,"  here  he  gave  another  pat,  "and  we'll  behave  well  to 
him.  Now,  where  is  the  girl?  Hang  it  all,  Louis,  just 
to  think  of  you  as  a  married  man !  I  suppose  I  may  give 
her  a  kiss.  Why,  it  doesn't  seem  so  long  ago  that  you 
used  to  kiss  me  '  good-night'  yourself,  no,  nor  an  age  since 
we  slept  together  under  the  counter  at  Abrahams,  the 
pawnbrokers.  You  forget  that,  I  suppose  ?  It  was  almost 
my  first  place,  and  I  took  it  for  four  bob  a  week  on  condi- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  269 

tion  I  might  have  you  to  sleep  with  me  under  the  counter. 
How  you  used  to  nestle  up,  '  Lulu  cold,'  you  used  to  say ; 
it  was  '  Lulu  cold'  and  '  Lulu  hungry'  most  of  those  days. 
And  now  I  am  asking  whether  I  may  give  your  wife  a 
kiss,  and  she  Stephen  Hayward's  daughter!  Yes,  times 
have  changed  for  us,  haven't  they?" 

Louis  was  quite  ready  to  be  sentimental ;  he  had  yet  to 
break  to  Karl  that  he  had  not  waited  for  Stephen's  con- 
sent— and  then  there  was  the  Geldenrief — 

"  But  you've  always  been  good  to  me,  old  fellow, 
though  I've  been  a  trouble,"  he  answered  affectionately. 

"  No,  no,  never  a  trouble — a  bit  of  anxiety  perhaps,  but 
we  won't  talk  of  that  now ;  you're  all  I've  got  belonging 
to  me  anyhow.  I  don't  feel  it's  a  sister  you're  going  to 
present  to  me,  I  feel  it's  a  daughter;  you've  been  more 
like  a  son,  haven't  you  ?  And  I  haven't  been  hard  on  you, 
I  hope  I  haven't  been  hard  on  you,  because  you've  got  a 
different  nature  from  mine,  and  live  differently.  It's  all 
over  now,  eh?  Benedict,  the  married  man.  Is  she 
pretty  ?  I've  arranged  for  you  both  at  the  hotel.  I  didn't 
know  what  your  plans  were.  And  we've  got  a  heap  of 
things  to  talk  over;  it's  not  all  roses  over  here  just  now. 
But  we  must  see  you  finish  your  honeymoon  in  peace." 

Then,  amid  passengers  with  luggage,  and  sailors,  Kaf- 
fir boys,  and  the  bustle  of  landing,  appeared  Aline,  calm 
and  fair  and  collected,  in  her  neat  serge  costume,  her 
hat,  her  veil,  her  gloves,  all  as  if  fresh  from  Piccadilly, 
and  Susan  in  close  attendance,  with  her  leather  jewel- 
case. 

"  Oh,  my  word !"  ejaculated  Karl. 

"  All  right,  isn't  it?"  asked  Louis,  lisping  with  his  proud 
air  of  proprietorship. 

"  Aline,  this  is  my  more  than  brother,  my  guardian, 
Karl  Althaus,  the  millionaire." 

"  Well,  he  might  have  left  that  out,  mightn't  he,  my 
dear  ?  Glad  to  know  you,"  said  Karl. 

She  put  out  her  hand  in  its  grey  kid  glove,  a  small 
hand  that  lay  in  Karl's  huge  paw,  and  attracted  his  eye : 


270  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

there  seemed  no  occasion  or  opportunity  for  that  contem- 
plated kiss. 

"  I  am  glad  to  know  Louis's  brother,"  she  said.  "  Is 
that  Cape  Town ;  do  we  land  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  Cape  Town,  and  this  is  Table  Bay."  Karl 
felt  a  pride  in  his  South  African  home. 

"  It  seems  very  nice,"  she  said,  in  that  ladylike,  unin- 
terested way  that  Louis  thought  was  such  good  form. 

"  Nice,  oh !"  Karl  faced  the  mountain  for  a  minute. 
It  was  crowned  with  mist;  behind  those  mists  was  hid- 
den more  than  a  continent,  an  empire.  Karl's  heart  was 
full  of  empire  just  now,  and  his  head  of  dreams ;  he  was 
growing  beyond  money,  and  the  land  he  looked  on  was 
great  with  promise. 

"  Louis,"  said  Aline,  "  my  cabin  box  has  not  been 
brought  up  yet.  Susan  told  the  men  not  to  touch  it  until 
you  went  down." 

"  All  right,  I'll  see  about  it ;  take  care  of  that  gang- 
way. Karl,  see  to  Aline,  old  fellow,  will  you,  whilst  I 
look  after  the  things  ?  I  told  them  not  to  turn  them  upside 
down ;  I  don't  want  everything  spoilt" 

"  Yes,  I'll  see  to  Aline.  Take  my  arm,  dear.  You  don't 
mind  my  calling  you  dear,  do  you  ?  I  dare  say  Louis  will 
have  told  you  he's  been  more  like  a  son  to  me  than  a 
brother.  I  nursed  him  when  he  was  a  baby ;  he  sat  on 
my  knee  to  learn  his  letters,  used  to  cuddle  down  too,  and 
pretend  he  was  asleep,  so  that  he  shouldn't  have  to  learn. 
He  was  a  sly  little  chap,  but  affectionate,  I  believe  you. 
But  you  don't  wa-nt  me  to  prate  about  your  husband,  I 
dare  say  you've  heard  all  about  it;  you'll  be  glad  to 
get  on  dry  land  again,  I  should  think.  I  always  look 
on  the  trip  as  a  rest,  but  I  suppose  it's  different  with 
you." 

Aline  had  nothing  to  say.  Susan  answered  for  her.  She 
never  let  her  mistress  far  out  of  her  sight. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  we  shall  be,  sir,  cooped  up  in  these  cab- 
ins, hardly  room  to  turn  round." 

Karl  did  not  encourage  Susan's  loquacity.    He  looked 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  271 

after  Aline,  and  then  returned  to  help  Louis  with  the  lug- 
gage and  through  the  customs. 

"  I  won't  dine  with  you  to-night ;  I'll  leave  you  by  your- 
selves. But  how  about  to-morrow?  I  want  a  talk;  I'm 
at  the  old  rooms.  Will  you  stroll  over  after  breakfast?" 

"  Oh,  come  in  to-night.  Aline  is  sure  to  go  to  bed 
early.  What  do  you  think  of  her?  What  did  she  say  to 


you 


"  Not  talkative,  is  she  ?  A  bit  of  her  aunt  about  her, 
isn't  there?"  Karl  said  slowly. 

"  But  she's  got  the  air,  the  right  air  about  her,  hasn't 
she?"  Louis  rejoined  eagerly. 

"  Louis,  you're  such  an  affectionate  fellow,  have  you 
done  this  for  me?  She's — it's  got  into  my  head  that 
you've  done  this  for  me ;  it's  just  like  you.  Tell  me " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  nonsense !"  but  not  in  a  tone  to  carry 
conviction.  Why  shouldn't  Karl  think  he  had  sacrificed 
himself  on  the  altar  of  fraternal  or  Imperial  interests. 
"  Don't  worry  about  me.  Aline  is  all  right,  just  the  wife 
for  me ;  and  now  you've  got  the  connection  you  want  with 
the  Government.  Stephen  Hayward  will  be  Prime  Min- 
ister one  of  these  days,  everybody  says  so.  It's  only  a 
question  of  time." 

"  Well,  well,  I'll  see  you  later.  But  my  mind  misgives 
me,  my  mind  misgives  me." 

It  did  misgive  him.  Karl,  accustomed  to  deal  with  men 
and  matters,  always  ready  with  a  certain  penetrative  sum- 
mary of  the  people  before  him,  had  hoped  to  find  a  strong, 
good  woman  side  by  side  with  his  brother,  one  who  would 
lead  him,  guard  him,  keep  him  from  straying  backwards 
to  those  Cupid's  gardens,  of  his  dalliances  in  which  Karl 
had  always  known.  Aline  was  not  a  strong  woman,  he 
saw  that  in  her  wandering  eyes ;  that  she  was  not  a  wise 
one  he  saw  too,  not  one  who  would  share  the  responsi- 
bility he  had  always  had  with  Louis,  she  was  one  who 
would  add  to  it  rather.  Karl  perceived  all  that. 

"  She  hasn't  kept  simple  and  straight  herself,  as  a  girl 
should,"  he  thought,  remembering  the  old  story.  That 


272  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

she  was  fair  and  stately  in  her  cultivated  carriage  did  not 
compensate  him  for  all  he  missed  in  her;  and  his  mind 
misgave  him  is  he  drove  away. 

He  had  meant  to  leave  them  alone  together  that  even- 
ing, but  his  restlessness  made  it  impossible.  Louis  wel- 
comed him  warmly  in  the  hotel  sitting-room,  was  affec- 
tionately glad  to  see  him,  and  ordered  up  the  whisky  bottle 
and  cigars,  remembering  all  Karl's  tastes. 

"  That's  just  what  we  wanted,  a  good  old  cosy  talk. 
Aline  went  to  bed  directly  after  dinner,  tired  out,  you 
know.  I  don't  think  she's  very  strong,  but  Susan  looks 
after  her — a  good  girl,  Susan.  Did  you  notice  her?  So 
you  can  smoke  away  with  an  easy  conscience,  and  they'll 
air  the  room  before  we  want  it  in  the  morning." 

Louis's  fastidiousness  foresaw  the  room  filled  with 
fumes  of  stale  smoke  and  whisky,  and  provided  against 
it.  He  took  one  easy-chair,  Karl  taking  the  other.  He 
lit  a  cigarette,  Karl  a  green  Havana.  Louis  had  his  coffee 
and  his  liqueur  at  the  small  table  by  his  elbow,  Karl  filled 
half  his  tumbler  with  whisky,  added  a  dash  of  soda,  and 
put  it  on  the  ground  beside  him  where  he  could  reach  it 
easily. 

"  Now  tell  us  all  about  it.  I'll  unfold  my  budget  when 
you've  done;  mine's  full  enough.  I've  been  hanging 
about  that  stoep  at  Groot  Schur  for  the  last  week.  That's 
the  biggest  man  we've  seen  in  our  time,  Louis,  the  very 
biggest." 

"  You  tell  me  all  about  everything,"  Louis  interposed, 
stretching  himself  out  lazily  and  comfortably,  "  mine  can 
keep.  I'm  married  and  done  for,  that  sums  it  up ;  you've 
got  far  more  interesting  news.  What  about  the  Bank, 
and  what's  the  meaning  of  the  Concessions'  Account  that 
we  paid  ten  thousand  into,  and  what  has  brought  business 
to  a  standstill  in  Throgmorton  Street,  and  lots  more 
whats  ?  Go  ahead !" 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  you  back,"  said  Karl ;  "  I  haven't  a 
soul  I  can  talk  to  as  I  do  to  you,  Louis.  But  I  wish  I'd 
brought  you  up  differently;  I  wish  I  had  known  what  I 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  273 

know  now  when  you  were  a  little  fellow,  and  would  have 
taken  it  in." 

"  Oh !  well,  I  dare  say  I  know  more  than  you  think ; 
but  what's  it  all  about,  what's  wrong?" 

What  Karl  Althaus  had  to  tell  his  brother  is  an  old 
story  now,  trite  and  stale  and  almost  forgotten.  For 
years  Karl  had  thought  only  of  money,  and  of  how  to 
acquire  it,  of  land  and  how  to  become  possessed  of  it, 
but  his  big  heart  and  big  brain  wanted  only  impetus  and 
opportunity  to  open  to  finer  truths  than  that  money  is 
power.  Joan  had  given  the  impetus,  circumstances  the 
opportunity,  and  the  Prime  Minister  of  Cape  Colony  had 
indicated  the  direction. 

The  grievances  of  British  residents  in  Johannesburg 
had  reached  the  culminating  point.  The  laws  made  by 
the  Boers  to  suit  the  Boers  pressed  ever  more  hardly  on 
those  whose  interests  were  not  represented  in  either  Raad. 
The  position  had  become  intolerable.  Moved  partly  by 
genuine  patriotism,  partly  by  the  counsel  of  the  woman 
he  loved,  a  little  perhaps  also  by  self-interest,  Karl  Alt- 
haus had  definitely  joined  the  party  of  revolt.  But  he 
hardly  anticipated  serious  opposition ;  it  was  a  big  game 
of  bluff  that  he  thought  would  be  played,  with  cannons 
for  counters.  The  coming  of  Stephen  Hay  ward's  daugh- 
ter meant  that  the  British  residents  in  Johannesburg  held 
the  fifth  ace ;  and  the  fifth  ace  was  Imperial  support. 

"  What  have  you  told  Stephen  Hayward  ?"  Karl  asked 
,  Louis.  "  When  I  got  your  wire,  when  I  knew  he  had 
given  you  his  daughter,  and  that  you  were  both  on  the 
way  out,  I  took  heart.  I  went  up  to  Rhodes  with  the 
news.  '  Stephen  Hayward  has  given  his  daughter  to  my 
brother/  I  told  him,  '  I  asked  him  for  a  sign,  and  he  has 
given  his  daughter  to  my  brother,  and  sent  them  both  out 
here.'  I  suppose,  by  the  way,  it  was  Stephen's  idea  you 
should  come  out  here,  and  be  on  the  spot  when  the  row 
came?" 

"  You  know,  Karl,  you  may  be  very  well  up  in  the  poli- 
tics of  the  Rand,  but  you  know  precious  little  about  politics 

18 


274  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

in  England,  if  you  think  Stephen  Hayward  represents  the 
Government." 

"  He  represents  the  Haywards,  and  the  Haywards  rep- 
resent the  country,  all  that  is  best  and  most  constitutional 
in  it." 

"  Stick-in-the-muds,  that's  what  the  Haywards  are. 
You'll  never  get  the  Haywards  to  move." 

"  We  must,  Louis,  we  must.  It's  life  and  death  to 
South  Africa,  it's  life  and  death  to  British  interests  here. 
I  do  believe  it's  life  and  death  to  British  interests  through- 
out the  world  if  we  lose  South  Africa;  and  lose  it  we  shall- 
if  these  eighty  thousand  Englishmen  are  left  to  their  fate, 
to  be  trampled  on,  oppressed,  fired  at  and  taunted  when 
they  threaten  reprisals,  intrigued  against  successfully 
when  they  appeal  to  their  Commissioner,  thrust  on  one 
side  when  they  expose  their  grievances,  forbidden  to  bear 
arms,  to  live  free,  deprived  of  suffrage,  their  rights  ig- 
nored." 

"  Draw  it  mild,  old  fellow,  we  haven't  starved  out 
here." 

"  No !"  Karl  said  bitterly,  "  because  we've  run  with  the 
hare  and  hunted  with  the  hounds,  because  we've  forgot- 
ten we  were  Englishmen.  But  I'm  sick  of  truckling,  they 
think  less  and  less  of  us  through  it.  We've  got  to  fight 
'em,  or  anyway  frighten  'em.  That  damned  fort  at  Pre- 
toria has  got  to  be  seized." 

"  You're  such  a  surprise  to  me  in  this  mood,  I  don't 
know  what  to  say ;  it  seems  a  storm  in  a  tea-cup  to  me." 

"  It  will  be  a  hurricane  by-and-by." 

Karl  told  Louis  everything,  walking  up  and  down  the 
room,  now  in  glowing  sentences,  now  in  disjointed 
phrases.  He  talked  far  into  the  night,  with  the  longing  a 
man  has  for  sympathy,  for  comprehension,  from  his  own 
kith  and  kin. 

Louis,  at  first  amused,  grew  tired,  then  bored;  he 
yawned,  he  looked  at  his  watch.  Karl  went  on  talking 
revolution,  Louis  drowsed  in  his  easy-chair,  answering 
yes  and  no,  murmuring  sympathetic  agreement,  longing 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  275 

foi  Karl  to  exhaust  himself.  But  Karl  woke  him  suddenly 
when,  a  propos  of  nothing,  he  said : 

"  Tell  me,  you  never  told  me,  if  you  saw  anything  of 
Joan  de  Groot  in  London.  I  hear  you  went  over  in  the 
same  boat;  did  you  get  friendly  with  her?  Hers  is  the 
very  pen  we  want  now  and  must  have.  What  is  she 
doing?  Where  is  she?" 

"  Joan — Joan  de  Groot,"  stammered  Louis.  "  Where  is 
she?  Where?" 

"  Yes,  man,  where,  and  what  is  she  doing  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

It  was  the  truth,  he  did  not  know.  His  mind  followed 
the  question  —  she  and  her  unborn  child,  where  were 
they?" 

"  Karl,  I  don't  know.  I  tried  to  find  out,  I  wanted  to 
know,  it's  not  my  fault."  He  was  agitated ;  Karl  saw  he 
was  agitated.  "  She  gave  me  the  slip ;  I  swear  to  you  I 
never  meant  to  lose  sight  of  her  like  this " 

Karl  did  not  understand  his  agitation ;  there  were  tears 
in  Louis's  eyes  and  his  voice  was  unsteady,  even  his 
cheeks  had  flushed  a  little.  "  I  never  meant  to  lose  sight 
of  her.  I  wish  to  God  I  knew  where  she  was.  You  have 
heard  something " 

Karl  went  over  to  him. 

"  What  a  sentimentalist  you  are,"  he  said,  "  what  a 
sentimentalist.  I  begin  to  think  that  any  way  I  had  edu- 
cated you,  you  would  have  turned  out  the  same.  I  tell 
you  of  the  biggest  bit  of  Empire-making  that  has  been 
done  since  Clive  was  in  India,  and  you  yawn  your  head 
off.  I  ask  you  the  address  of  a  woman  that  I  told  you  to 
keep  your  eye  on,  and  because  you  haven't  got  it  you  are 
half  hysterical.  Never  mind,  old  chap,  if  you  have  lost 
sight  of  her.  One  woman  at  a  time  for  you,  I  suppose, 
and  you  were  completely  taken  up  with  the  present  Mrs. 
Althaus." 

Louis's  smile  was  sickly. 

"  But  I'm  disappointed  "  Karl  said,  walking  up  and 
down  again,  "  I  must  admit  I'm  disappointed.  I  thought 


276  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

you  two  would  have  become  friends.  I  thought  you'd 
have  given  me  news  of  her.  I  told  you  before,  didn't  I, 
Louis?  she's  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  me.  And 
she's  free  now." 

He  grew  silent  a  minute,  thinking  of  her.  Louis's 
heart  was  beating  fast;  what  would  Karl  say  if  he 
knew ? 

"  There  is  no  good  writing  to  her,  I  shall  wait  till  I  go 
over.  I'll  find  her  out — I'll  ask  her  again." 

Louis  was  sick  with  fear,  perhaps  with  shame.  Karl 
went  on  talking.  "  Everything  she  taught  me,  everything. 
Do  you  know  those  lines  ? — 

'  Ever  the  faith  endures ;   England,  my  England, 
Take  me  and  break  me,  I  am  yours, 

England !  my  own.' 

She  taught  'em  to  me,  made  me  repeat  them  after  her  as 
if  I'd  been  a  child.  You  ought  not  to  have  let  her  out  of 
your  sight  or  out  of  your  knowledge.  She  is  such  a  brave 
little  woman,  but  she  has  very  little  money,  my  mind  mis- 
gives me  —  I  can't  understand  about  the  Geldenrief ,  I 
think  she  may  have  got  into  bad  hands.  Louis,  as  I'm 
talking  I'm  getting  frightened  for  her.  You  must  have 
heard  of  her,  you  ought  to  have  heard  of  her.  Isn't  she 
writing  anything  ?  How  is  she  living  ?  What  is  she  living 
on  ?  Who's  fighting  her  battles  for  her  ?  Oh,  Louis,  with 
all  your  love-making,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have 
a  little  woman  like  that,  all  life  and  sweetness,  tugging 
all  the  time  at  the  gizzard  of  you."  He  stood  still  a  min- 
ute, miserably,  silently.  "  I  wanted  her,  how  I  wanted 
that  woman !  Never  as  badly  as  I  do  now.  I'm  an  old 
fool  to  you,  I  know  I'm  an  old  fool,  but  she  kissed  me 
once — of  her  own  free  will — God  bless  her.  Louis,  you 
ought  to  have  brought  me  word  of  her.  You  knew  how 
it  was  with  me."  Louis  stammered  out  that  he  did  not 
know,  had  not  guessed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  told  you.     I  must  own — you  won't 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  277 

think  less  of  me,  will  you?  or  that  I  care  for  you  less — • 
but  I  must  own  that  some  of  the  reason  why  I  was  long- 
ing so  to  see  you,  to  have  a  good  old  talk,  was  just  to  hear 
you  say  where  you  had  left  her,  how  she  was  looking. 
What  did  she  say  to  you,  Louis?  I've  got  a  thirst  on  me 
when  I  think  of  her."  He  finished  off  his  whisky  at  a 
gulp. 

How  had  she  looked?  What  had  she  said  to  him? 
Louis,  even  Louis,  could  not  meet  his  brother's  eye. 

"  I  dare  say  she's  all  right,"  he  got  out.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  '  she  has  no  money,'  and  about  the  Gelden- 
rief  ?  She's  got  a  good  income — the  farm  is  hers." 

"  No,  no !  the  farm  is  ours." 

"  Ours?"  he  exclaimed,  unguardedly,  thrown  off  his 
balance. 

"  Yes,  didn't  I  write  you  ?  It  is  that  which  has  both- 
ered me,  that's  what  I  don't  understand.  She  renounced 
the  farm  in  favor  of  the  next-of-kin,  that  drunken  half- 
breed  Josephus  de  Witte.  We've  bought  it  off  him  for 
eight  thousand  pounds." 

"  Renounced — renounced?"  he  muttered,  growing  pale. 

"  Wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with  it,  she  wrote. 
Van  Biene  told  me  about  it,  he  wouldn't  show  me  her 
letter;  it  gave  no  explanation,  he  said.  I  can't  make  it 
out;  of  course,  I  shall  preserve  her  rights.  But  I  get 
puzzled  sometimes ;  like  to-night,  for  instance,  I  get  un- 
easy. What  became  of  her?  What  is  she  doing?  If 
she's  married  again  I  should  have  heard — I  do  believe 
she  would  have  written  to  tell  me.  It  would  be  just  like  her 
to  renounce  the  property  if  she  had  married  again,  but  no ! 
she  would  not  have  done  that  either — not  so  soon,  at  least. 
I  thought  you  would  have  brought  me  news.  I  shan't  be 
able  to  stand  this  much  longer ;  I  shall  have  to  go  over." 
His  hand  shook  a  little,  Louis  saw  it  by  the  drink  in  the 
tumbler. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Karl,  I'm  sorry,  it  wasn't  my  fault,  dear  old 
Karl ;  I'm  sorry."  He  was  still  fumbling  with  words, 
dazed  at  what  he  had  heard. 


278  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Oh,  never  mind.  I  must  get  used  to  it."  He  emptied 
his  glass. 

"  But  the  Geldenrief  ?  Then  I  was  right  to  buy  up  the 
shares?"  He  was  anxious  to  press,  to  pursue  the  subject. 

"  We  could  have  dealt  with  the  deep  without  touching 
the  outcrop.  You've  paid  about  two  hundred  thousand 
for  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  ma- 
chinery, and  not  the  latest  either.  I  don't  blame  you,  old 
fellow,  you  meant  well,  we  all  make  mistakes,  but  you 
might  have  let  me  know  what  you  were  up  to.  It  will 
right  itself,  I  suppose.  If  what  we're  projecting  for  comes 
off,  it  will  pay  to  work  a  lower  grade  ore,  and  the  Gelden- 
rief may  still  yield  a  dividend.  I  shall  do  nothing  with 
the  land  until  I've  found  the  little  woman,  until  I've 
got  to  know  what  she  wants,  what  her  meaning  was.  She 
always  had  compunctions  as  to  how  she  had  treated  De 
Groot;  I  suppose  that  was  it.  But  you  look  pale,  old 
fellow,  tired.  I've  kept  you  up  too  long,  first  with  my 
politics,  and  now  with  my  love  affairs.  But  I  have  no 
secrets  from  you.  I'm  off,  now.  I've  got  to  go  back  to 
Johannesburg  in  a  couple  of  days;  I've  got  all  my  in- 
structions now,  the  way  is  pretty  clear.  Good-night,  old 
chap,  take  a  long  morning,  you  look  done  up;  it's  that 
confounded  cigarette-smoking.  And  don't  you  worry  be- 
cause you've  lost  sight  of  Joan  de  Groot,  I'll  find  her, 
never  fear,  I  don't  suppose  there's  anything  wrong.  I'm 
a  fidgetty  old  fool.  You  know  I  always  fidget  over  you, 
if  you're  out  of  sight  too  long,  if  I  don't  know  where  you 
are,  and  what  you're  up  to.  Good-night !" 

But  Louis  had  a  bad  night,  with  troubled  dreams,  un- 
easy sleep,  and,  though  he  called  up  to  his  aid  all  his 
grievances  against  Joan,  the  shape  and  substance  had  gone 
out  of  them,  they  could  not  fill  the  room,  they  could  not 
shut  out  her  small  face,  her  wavy  hair,  her  words,  "  Louis, 
if  your  '  for  ever'  meant  three  months,  let  it  last  a  little 
longer." 

What  had  become  of  her? 

What  would  Karl  say  if  he  knew? 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 


WHAT  followed  made  history. 

Louis  and  his  wife  had  arrived  in  South  Africa  on  the 
eve  of  the  Jameson  Raid.  Karl,  interesting  himself  in  the 
uprising  that  was  being  engineered  from  Cape  Town,  tried 
to  carry  Louis  with  him.  Louis,  fearful  lest  Karl  should 
rush  home  on  a  search  for  Joan,  fearful  lest  Karl  should 
suspect  his  loyalty  in  the  matter  of  the  Geldenrief,  fell, 
or  pretended  to  fall,  in  with  his  revolutionary  sympathies. 

Owing  to  Karl's  trust  in  him,  owing  to  Rhodes's  habit 
of  leaving  all  details  to  trusted  lieutenants,  Louis,  after 
Karl  had  gone  back  to  Johannesburg,  came  to  have  more 
power  in  his  hands  than  any  other  man  of  the  whole  party. 
The  way  he  used  his  power  was  to  invent  codes,  intrigue 
with  contractors,  undermine  petty  officials,  delay  and 
bungle. 

The  arms  Louis  had  ordered  failed  to  arrive,  the  ammu- 
nition Louis  had  provided  failed  in  quantity  and  quality. 
Up  in  Johannesburg  grave  faces  counted  men  and  arms, 
and  looked  at  each  other  bewildered.  Everything  waited. 

Then  the  young  hot-heads,  impatient  and  restless  on 
the  borders  of  Bechuanaland,  grew  tired  of  waiting.  They 
moved — they  were  beyond  recall.  Older  hot-heads,  big 
with  great  purpose — South  Africa  to  be  won,  and  the  heel 
stamped  on  the  serpent-head  of  treason — were  beyond 
reason.  The  Empire-maker's  half-hearted  cry  of  "  wait" 
fell  on  ears  deaf,  purposely  deaf,  to  its  echo.  A  small 
man  in  a  big  moment  precipitated  the  crisis.  Through 
Louis's  instrumentality,  that  word  "  wait"  reached  Johan- 
nesburg in  a  tone  of  thunder;  it  died  away  before  it  could 
catch  that  brave  little  band  that  looked  to  Johannesburg 
for  reinforcements  and  support. 

279 


280  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

When  Louis  heard  that  Jameson  was  moving ;  when  a 
foolish  official  high  in  the  Cabinet  told  him  this,  told  him 
also  that  the  whole  plot  was  discovered,  the  leaders  were 
all  known,  that  peremptory  orders  were  being  despatched, 
that  Willoughby  and  Jameson  would  be  treated  as  in- 
vaders of  a  friendly  State,  practically  as  pirates,  that  they 
would  be  shot,  that  Johannesburg  rebels  would  be  simi- 
larly treated,  that  the  British  Government  was  cabling 
sympathetically  to  Kruger;  a  panic,  a  paroxysm  of  fear 
came  over  the  man,  he  dreaded  he  knew  not  what.  He 
cabled  Karl :  "  Flotation  indefinitely  postponed.  Lon- 
don takes  all  shares,"  and  then,  terrified  at  what  he  had 
done,  and  at  what  he  had  left  undone,  picturing  Karl  in 
prison  in  Pretoria,  himself  implicated,  he  hurried  Aline 
and  Susan  on  board  the  first  steamer  that  sailed,  and  was 
half-way  home  before  he  had  regained  his  nerve. 

Karl  interpreted  Louis's  message  that  Jameson  too  had 
been  stopped!  and  he  persuaded  his  colleagues  to  accept 
his  interpretation.  Nothing  synchronised.  What  Cape 
Town  already  knew,  Johannesburg  heard  too  late.  For 
those  words,  London  takes  all  shares,  coming  to  him  from 
Stephen  Hayward's  son-in-law  meant  to  Karl  Althaus 
that  the  Home  Government  was  prepared  to  give  active 
support.  He  hurriedly  left  for  Cape  Town  to  get  further 
instructions. 

When  the  crucial  moment  came  in  Johannesburg,  when 
at  length  they  heard  there  that  Jameson  had  not  been 
stopped,  that  he  was  marching  forward,  expecting  rein- 
forcements to  ride  out  to  meet  him,  there  was  no  Karl 
Althaus  on  the  spot  to  dominate  the  situation.  There 
were  weak  men,  and  cold-blooded  ones,  there  were  pol- 
troons, and  there  were  wiseacres,  there  were  the  men  who 
said  that  ten  thousand  rounds  of  ammunition  would  last 
the  rifles  less  than  an  hour,  there  were  men  who  recal- 
culated for  the  hundred  and  first  time  all  the  chances 
against  them,  there  was  every  one  to  counsel  delay,  hesi- 
tation, inaction,  to  counsel  the  safeguarding  their  own  in- 
dividual interests.  There  was  no  man,  no  big,  brave,  un- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  281 

selfish  man,  to  muster  what  arms,  what  fighting  power, 
they  had,  and  to  march  out  with  these  to  join  the  heroes 
who  had  advanced  to  their  aid. 

The  desperate  muddle  that  then  ensued  has  now  cul- 
minated in  our  peaceful  possession  of  the  country  we  have 
won  again  and  again.  But  no  such  vision  of  the  future 
compensated  Karl  for  the  news  he  heard  when  he  reached 
Cape  Town.  There  he  heard  of  the  great  disaster,  of  the 
brave  little  band  looking  for  the  reinforcements  that  came 
not,  of  the  lost  lives,  the  surrender,  the  arrest  of  his 
friends,  his  companions,  the  men  he  had  led  into  danger, 
of  the  Reform  leaders  in  gaol,  and  Kruger  malignantly 
triumphing  over  the  "  tortoise  that  had  put  out  its  head." 
It  was  heartbreaking  to  Karl  Althaus,  literally  heartbreak- 
ing. He  had  never  been  ill  in  his  life,  but  he  broke  down 
in  Cape  Town,  when  he  heard  all  Van  Biene  had  to  tell 
him,  all  the  newspapers  were  full  of,  when  he  realised  the 
ruin  of  his  hopes  and  plans. 

Breakdown  takes  unromantic  forms,  and  Karl  Althaus 
was  never  a  figure  for  romance.  He  got  a  chill  on  his 
journey  up,  he  had  been  forty  hours  without  food,  he  was 
in  a  state  of  the  intensest,  most  deplorable,  depression. 
Two  hours  after  his  arrival  in  Cape  Town  he  was  in  bed 
with  an  acute  attack  of  dysentery.  For  a  full  week  events 
went  on  without  him.  He  had  a  magnificent  constitution, 
but  he  had  tried  it  severely.  He  was  a  wreck  at  the  end 
of  the  week.  Nevertheless,  he  wanted  to  go  back. 
\  That  hotel  at  Sea  Point,  the  best  hostelry  in  South 
Africa,  to  which  they  had  brought  him  in  his  sudden  ill- 
ness, was  for  him  as  a  prison.  All  day  in  his  agony  the 
sun  blazed  into  the  windows  of  his  bedroom,  and  the  sea 
swelled  smoothly  and  glassily  in  the  bay  beyond,  and  sun 
and  sea  seemed  part  of  the  fever  which  consumed  him, 
and  part  of  the  barrier  which  lay  between  him  and  the 
men  by  whose  side  he  should  have  stood.  All  the  days  and 
nights  of  that  week  he  wanted  to  go  back ;  raging  in  the 
enforced  confinement  of  his  sick-room,  he  was  the  despair 
of  his  nurses  and  the  terror  of  his  doctor. 


282  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

They  told  his  state  to  a  man  who  valued  Karl  Althaus — • 
there  were  many  such  in  Cape  Town,  but  this  man  Karl 
Althaus  valued. 

This  man  came  from  his  own  misery  in  Groot  Schur, 
and  sat  by  Karl's  bedside. 

"  You  want  to  get  back ;  but  there's  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  going  back,"  he  told  Karl,  who,  as  he  lay 
and  looked  at  his  friend,  listened,  and  began  to  feel 
alive  again,  because  here  was  Rhodes,  shading  him 
from  the  glare  of  sun  and  sea,  and  with  Rhodes  was 
strength. 

"  The  Commissioner  has  gone  up ;  I  saw  him  before  he 
started." 

"  What  did  you  tell  him  ?  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?" 

"  I  told  him  I  didn't  care  a  damn  what  his  instructions 
were,  or  what  authority  he'd  got ;  but  if  a  hair  of  Jimmy's 
head  was  injured " 

He  could  not  sit  still  and  contemplate  such  a  possi- 
bility. He  turned  his  back  to  Karl;  nobody  should  see 
his  face,  when  he  thought  of  Jimmy,  of  what  might  hap- 
pen to  him. 

"  Go  on,  for  mercy's  sake,  go  on,"  said  Karl  from  his 
sickbed.  Rhodes  turned  round  at  that ;  Karl  could  see  the 
sun  had  dazzled  his  small  bloodshot  eyes. 

He  took  out  a  cigar,  and  lighted  it  with  shaking  hand, 
forgetting  he  was  in  a  sick-room.  "  I  told  him  if  a  hair  of 
Jimmy's  head  was  hurt,  aye,  or  of  any  of  them,  I'd  power 
enough  left — I'm  a  broken  man,  but  I've  power  enough 
left — to — to  raise  hell  in  the  land.  I  told  him  if  he  didn't 
bring  him  back  to  me  here  safe,  I'd  arm  every  black  in 
/Rhodesia;"  he  puffed  vigorously  at  his  cigar,  but  his 
hand  shook  as  he  held  it,  "  and  in  Bechuanaland.  I  told 
him — I'm  a  broken  man,  but  I've  got  millions  of  money 
behind  me,  and  half  a  continent  of  fellows  that — that  still 
trust  me,  and  if  she  goes  back  on  us,  the  Mother  Coun- 
try"— he  was  speaking  slowly,  and  Karl  hung  on  his 
words,  every  note  in  that  deep  husky  voice  shaking 
through  him  in  his  weakness,  "  if  she  goes  back  on  us," 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  283 

he  bit  his  cigar  almost  in  half,  but  his  voice  was  lowered, 
not  raised  in  his  terrible  excitement,  "  I'll  arm  every  black 
in  the  country  and  send  them  war  whooping  with  rifles, 
and  with  maxims,  and  with  cannon,  until  there  isn't  a 

Boer  left  living  in  the  b y  country.  That's  what  I 

told  him."  He  puffed  at  his  cigar  and  cursed  it  because  it 
would  not  draw. 

Karl,  lying  in  bed,  too  weak  to  move,  watched  the  big 
man,  and  took  comfort.  They  were  restless  men,  those 
pioneers  ;  Rhodes  had  come  to  sit  with  his  sick  friend,  but 
sitting  was  impossible  for  him  for  long. 

"  I've  been  an  Englishman,"  he  said,  pulling  himself  up, 
a  strong  man,  over  six  feet  in  height,  and  fleshy ;  he  flung 
out  his  arms,  looked  at  his  big  fist,  and  repeated,  "  I've 
been  an  Englishman,  though  South  Africa  made  a  man 
of  me.  I  was  a  rotten  puny  boy  when  I  left  Eng- 
land; she  nurtured  me  badly,  had  no  suck  for  me, 
shoved  me  out.  I've  dreamt  of  her,  fought  for  her.  Karl 
Althaus !"  he  never  raised  his  voice,  "  if  through  her 
delay,  her  damnable  calm  and  red  tape,  there  is  a  hair  of 
one  of  those  men's  heads  injured,  I'll  pull  the  place  down 
upon  her,  I'll  make  hell  through  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  b y  continent,  I'll " 

Then  he  broke  down  and  flung  himself  on  the  easy- 
chair  by  Karl's  bedside  and  groaned ;  the  bed  shook  and 
the  room  shook,  but  Karl  was  comforted. 

Karl,  weak  and  shrunken,  grown  grey  of  face,  put  out  a 
<:haky  hand. 

"  Cecil,  old  man,  keep  up,  everything  depends  on  you 
now." 

"  No,  I'm  broke,  I've  resigned.  I'm  a  damned  fool  to 
talk  as  if  I  had  any  power  left."  He  lifted  up  his  head, 
but  the  gleam  that  had  been  in  his  eyes  when  he  talked  of 
vengeance  had  gone  out  of  them,  and  he  looked  what  he 
said  he  was — a  broken  man. 

"  But  we  must  do  something — I  must  get  back — this 
blasted  illness — "  Karl  moved  with  difficulty,  with  groans 
of  weakness,  the  sweat  breaking  out  on  his  forehead. 


284  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  That  fool  is  keeping  liquor  from  me,  making  me  as  weak 
as  a  rat.  Cecil,  I  can't  sleep — those  poor  fellows !" 

"Ah!" 

"  Blast  this  illness." 

He  could  not  lie  in  his  bed  quietly,  he  turned  and  tossed 
and  cursed  his  body.  He  was  desperate  to  get  back  to 
Pretoria,  it  seemed  to  him  he  had  deserted  his  post,  he 
wanted  to  be  shot,  he  would  rather  have  died  with  the 
troopers  who  had  fallen,  or  been  in  prison  with  the  others, 
than  be  here.  To  be  here  in  safety,  in  bed  in  Cape  Town, 
made  him  rave  and  curse,  made  him  swear — and  cry. 

The  other  man  had  told  him  there  was  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  going  back;  but  if  Rhodes  had  told  him  he 
ought  to  go,  he  could  not  have  moved.  The  world  was 
all  black  that  afternoon  to  those  two,  not  because  they 
had  failed,  both  of  them  had  before  that  faced  failure, 
and  worse,  but  because  through  them  their  friends  were 
in  jeopardy.  The  big  man  was  in  worse  plight  than 
Karl.  He  had  a  reputation,  and  he  had  lost  it.  He  ~ad 
a  friend,  a  friend  who  was  dearer  to  him  than  himself, 
or  his  ambitions,  or  any  country — and  his  friend  was  in 
danger.  Still  it  was  he  who  recovered  himself  first  in 
this  interview.  He  had  come  here  to  comfort  Karl  be- 
cause he  heard  that  Karl  was  ill  and  broken.  And  Karl 
sobbed  in  his  bed,  lost  his  self-control  before  the  other, 
and  raved. 

"  This  won't  do — this  won't  do,  old  man."  Rhodes  put 
his  hand  on  the  bed-clothes.  He  was  of  a  different  race 
and  hardier.  "  Here,  I've  got  a  flask  with  me,  have  a 
pull.  Damn  the  doctors;  there's  only  one  of  them  who 
knows  everything." 

Ah !  that  friend  of  his,  how  gentle  he  was,  and  he  knew 
everything ! 

"  We've  got  to  face  the  music,  there's  lots  to  be  done, 
though  I  think  it's  better  done  here  than  in  Pretoria. 
Here  or  at  home.  Pull  yourself  together.  I'm  no  good 
to  anybody.  I  don't  know  what  to  be  after  until  I  know 
Jimmy's  safe.  Curse  it !  what  fools  we've  been." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  285 

Silence  fell  between  them  now  and  again.  They  said 
a  few  disjointed  words,  first  one  of  them  and  then  the 
other.  They  could  not  see  daylight.  They  had  been  so 
strong,  and  so  self-reliant.  They  had  meant  to  win  an 
Empire,  and  they  had  ended  by  wrecking  a  community. 
On  their  strength  and  self-reliance  the  others  had  counted. 
They  had  withdrawn  the  plank  when  the  swimmers  were 
in  deep  waters.  They  tried  to  talk  things  over,  but  dis- 
jointed words  and  phrases  were  all  that  came.  Their 
friendship  was  riveted  in  the  silences  that  fell  between 
them — in  the  moments  when  neither  of  them  could  face 
the  other.  When  they  parted  they  had  settled  nothing. 

That  night  Karl  Althaus  nearly  went  under.  He  had 
a  relapse,  and  he  shivered  on  the  brink  of  death.  In  his 
sick  man's  fancy  the  smell  of  death  was  in  his  nostrils,  and 
the  room  was  cold.  He  wanted  Louis,  wanted  something 
of  his  own  near  him.  He  had  nursed  Louis  more  than 
once  through  childish  illnesses,  and  held  him  in  his  arms 
through  fevered  nights.  He  wanted  Louis  now  to  put  a 
warm  hand  in  his ;  they  were  turning  grey  and  cold  and 
he  wanted  some  one  to  pull  him  back  from  the  brink. 
But  there  was  no  Louis  there;  Karl  shivered  the  night 
through  alone.  In  the  morning  hired  hands  were  fetched. 
He  was  cared  for,  but  not  by  the  boy  who  had  always  been 
his  care. 

He  asked  for  Louis,  and  they  had  to  tell  him  of  his 
brother's  hurried  flight,  of  his  disappearance.  Heaven 
>only  knows  what  Louis  had  feared,  but,  immediately  the 
news  of  the  abortive  raid  had  reached  him,  he  had  fled 
the  country.  Letters,  papers,  telegrams,  accounts,  all  had 
been  left  behind,  and  everybody  concerned  was  incrimi- 
nated. Karl,  with  the  facts  staring  him  in  the  face,  said 
to  himself  only  that  Louis  always  had  been  a  bit  of  a 
coward ;  he  pitied  him  because  he  was  not  stronger.  But, 
when  his  friend  came  to  see  him  again,  he  concealed  his 
soreness  of  feeling  and  defended  Louis,  saying  his  brother 
was  right  in  considering  the  position  of  his  wife. 

That  second  coming  of  his  friend  was  the  end  of  Karl's 


286  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

illness.  Rhodes  burst  into  the  room  in  something  of  his 
old  impetuous  manner,  with  his  face  alight.  He  did  not 
wait  for  the  Doctor's  permission,  nor  did  he  hear  the 
nurse's  warning.  He  was  waving  a  thin  cablegram,  the 
broken  look  had  gone;  he  was  himself  again,  great,  though 
not  quite  sober  perchance. 

"  It's  all  right,  old  fellow,  all  right.  She's  moved,  she's 
moved,  that  dear  old  blessed  Mother  of  ours,  she's  stretch- 
ing herself,  she's  waking  up.  Hurrah !  look  at  this  ..." 
Karl  stretched  out  a  feeble  hand,  but  the  other  read  to 
him,  his  voice  deep  with  satisfaction,  and  just  that  won- 
derful husky  note  in  it  again  that  told  of  his  emotion : 

" '  Two  regiments  ordered  to  South  Africa.  Flying 
squadron  mobilised.'  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

Karl's  weak  smile  was  eloquent. 

"  I  thought  that's  what  you'd  think.  Fairfield  wires, 
straight  from  the  Colonial  Office.  And  they've  claimed 
all  the  prisoners  for  trial  in  England." 

"  But  why  have  they  mobilised — how — what  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

"  What  has  happened  ?  A  miracle !  Kaiser  Billy  has 
done  the  trick;  he  thought  she  meant  it  when  she  slept 
on,  and  let  us  sweat.  He  played  a  dirty  German  trick. 
He  thought  she  was  asleep,  and  he  gave  a  kick.  '  Codlin' 
your  friend  not  short/  was  his  game.  And  lo!  and  be- 
hold, he's  kicked  her  into  life,  and  she's  awake,  and  look- 
ing over  here  at  us.  He  cabled  Kruger  to  congratulate 
him  on  his  escape, — and  she  woke  up  and  flung  the  Con- 
vention at  him.  Good  old  Kaiser  Billy.  We're  all  right 
now.  I'm  too  full  of  business  to  go  into  detail ;  I've  got 
a  thousand  things  to  do  before  I  get  away.  And  I  must 
get  away.  If  Jimmy's  got  to  stand  his  trial  he  mustn't 
stand  it  alone.  You  must  get  back  as  quickly  as  possi- 


"  Of  course.  Never  mind  being  ill — they'll  lift  you  on 
board.  I've  taken  your  passage  on  the  Dunvegan  Castle. 
She  sails  to-morrow,  so  you've  another  night  to  get  strong 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  287 

in.  That  precious  brother  of  yours  will  only  have  ten 
days'  start  of  you  after  all.  You'll  have  to  teach  him  to 
keep  his  mouth  shut." 

The  man  was  so  full  of  his  news,  of  the  rapid  shifting 
of  the  position,  the  panorama  of  events  having  moved  so 
quickly,  that  he  had  no  time  for  Karl's  protest  on  Louis's 
behalf,  nor  for  hesitation  on  his  own.  There  wasn't  a 
trace  of  depression  or  doubt  left  in  him.  The  very  mo- 
ment he  had  the  news  that  the  regiments  were  being  sent 
out,  and  the  fleet  had  been  mobilised,  the  very  moment  he 
knew  the  supine  old  Mother  in  the  sea  had  stirred  and 
moved,  and  stretched  out  her  arms  to  her  sons,  his  buoy- 
ancy carried  him  triumphantly  through  the  months,  the 
years ;  his  intellect  reasserted  itself,  and  he  saw  the  inevi- 
table end. 

"  We've  got  her,  Karl ;  she  won't  go  back  on  us  now. 
As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in  Heaven  the  British  flag  will 
wave  over  a  united  South  Africa.  There  will  be  any 
amount  of  time  wasted,  red  tape  unwound,  and  talkee, 
talkee,  but  in  the  end  we'll  make  'em  see  where  the  coun- 
try was  drifting  when  you  and  I  stepped  in  to  save  it  for 
them."  He  talked  rapidly  as  he  filled  the  sick-room  and 
flooded  it  with  promise.  The  mantle  of  prophecy  was 
upon  him ;  he  saw  through  the  years. 

'  Two  damned  fools  we've  been — two  damned  fools, 
they'll  call  us.  We  shall  hear  it  is  all  our  fault  while  they 
blunder  on  with  their  diplomacy.  But  we've  woke  'em 
.up,  Karl,  my  boy,  we've  woke  'em  up."  He  shouted 
to-day  at  the  sick  man,  who  could  have  shouted  back 
too  with  joy,  because  he  was  going  to  be  moved,  going  to 
be  taken  out  of  bed,  and  into  the  air,  and  made  strong 
and  well  again.  He  did  not  know  what  was  going  to  be 
done  with  him,  or  why,  but  he  was  infected  by  the  other's 
enthusiasm,  and  the  shadow  of  sickness  rolled  away  be- 
fore the  warmth  and  vigour  of  the  strong  man  who  was 
happy  in  what  he  saw  or  foresaw. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  at  home  ?  You  must  tell  me  what  I 
am  to  do." 


288  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Sit  on  the  steps  of  the  Colonial  Office  and  shriek  our 
justification: — the  Drifts,  the  Bewaarplatzen,  the  educa- 
tion, the  franchise,  the  prohibition  to  bear  arms.  Sit  and 
shriek ;  work  the  press.  Oh,  it's  all  right.  She  won't  go 
to  sleep  again  over  this  job.  Two  damned  fools,  they'll 
call  us ;  but  they'll  call  us  patriots  before  we're  dead,  see 
if  they  don't." 

We  have  lived  to  see  the  words  come  true,  lived  to  hear 
one  of  the  "  damned  fools"  hailed  as  the  greatest  English- 
man of  the  nineteenth  century.  But  the  great  English- 
man, justified  to-day  in  his  foresight  and  confidence,  died 
before  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  wear  his  laurels.  He 
lies  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  and  dominates  men's 
minds,  sways  their  judgments,  and  illuminates  their  imag- 
inations ;  living  he  never  wore  his  laurels. 

On  this  wonderful  morning,  when  he  heard  that  the 
answer  to  Kaiser  William's  congratulatory  telegram  was 
the  shipping  of  two  regiments  and  the  mobilisation  of  the 
fleet,  his  heart  swelled  with  pride  and  satisfaction.  He 
was  ready  to  face  the  music,  to  face  any  kind  of  music 
they  might  make  about  him,  to  take  full  responsibility  for 
all  blunders,  and  full  blame  for  all  mistakes.  He  wanted 
to  take  everything  upon  himself,  so  that  all  others  con- 
cerned might  go  free.  But  he  had  inevitable  prepara- 
tions to  make  and  business  to  conclude.  Karl  must  go 
alone,  and  he  would  follow  as  soon  as  it  was  pos- 
sible. 

"  But  don't  you  make  any  mistake ;  Chesham  is  the 
man  for  us,  he's  proved  himself  every  inch  a  man.  Your 
Stephen  Hayward  has  fizzled  out — that  was  another  of 
our  mistakes;  Chesham  ought  to  have  been  in  it  from 
the  first,  not  Hayward.  Your  brother  promised  every- 
thing in  his  name,  and,  when  it  came  to  the  pinch,  there 
was  nothing  to  show  for  it,  and  Louis  bolted  home  with 
the  daughter  on  the  first  hint  of  danger.  I  asked  him. 
asked  him  myself,  caught  hold  of  the  skunk — I  beg  your 
pardon — and  tried  to  get  him  to  go  straight  up  there,  up 
to  Johannesburg,  with  Stephen  Hayward's  daughter,  and 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  289 

lead  the  rebellion.  They  couldn't  have  repudiated  us 
then." 

"  He  was  bound  to  consider  her  safety,"  said  Karl 
loyally. 

"  Safety !"  contemptuously.  "  She  would  have  been 
safe  enough  holding  the  forts  at  Johannesburg  with  her 
husband  by  her  side.  With  an  English  Minister's  daugh- 
ter inside  the  British  lines,  and  defiance  flung  in  the  face 
of  Kruger,  even  with  the  High  Commissioner  to  back 
him,  every  loyalist  in  South  Africa  would  have  flocked  to 
help  them,  and  that  ape-faced  hypocrite  in  Pretoria  would 
have  yielded  all  they  asked  for.  I  see  it  clearly  enough 
now." 

He  grew  almost  dejected  again,  thinking  of  the  blun- 
ders that  had  been  made.  He  was  ever  a  man  of  moods, 
easily  depressed,  easily  elated,  but  with  a  wonderful 
power  of  prophecy,  of  which  we  reap  the  fulfilment. 

In  the  midst  of  his  work  and  his  troubles,  for  the  waters 
were  very  stormy,  and  no  one  had  yet  reached  port,  he 
found  time  to  superintend  Karl's  removal  to  the  Dun- 
vegan  Castle,  to  pat  him  on  the  back  and  shake  him  by  the 
hand,  to  put  life  and  spirit  into  him.  For  Karl  was  hum- 
bled; he  had  not  the  Empire-maker's  gifts  of  prophecy 
and  prescience.  He  was  tortured  continuously  by  his 
sense  of  his  own  shortcomings,  by  his  own  failure.  He 
felt  he  had  been  faint  in  the  fight ;  his  heart  had  not  been 
in  that  call  to  arms — he  knew  that,  and,  when  the  crucial 
.moment  came,  he  had  not  been  there  to  meet  it. 

Of  course,  at  the  last,  he  remembered  when  and  how 
he  could  help.  Van  Biene  was  instructed  that  no  money 
was  to  be  spared  in  Pretoria;  he  had  carte  blanche  for 
everybody's  expenses.  It  seemed  to  Karl  that  all  he  could 
do  to  compensate  the  Reform  leaders  for  the  troubles  he 
had  brought  upon  them  was  to  pour  out  his  money  in  their 
service.  Even  at  the  last  he  would  have  gone  back  to 
share  their  trial  and  their  punishment  with  them,  had  it 
not  been  made  impossible  for  him. 

He  was  carried  on  board,  but  his  constitution  tri- 

19 


290  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

umphed,  and  before  they  were  three  days  out  he  was  on 
his  feet  again.  By  the  time  they  landed  there  was  no  trace 
of  illness  about  him ;  he  was  ready  for  the  work  that  was 
before  him. 

He  was  a  little  sore  with  Louis  for  his  flight,  and  a 
doubt  of  the  younger  man  played  about  him  and  plagued 
him.  Van  Biene,  as  well  as  the  Empire-maker,  had  come 
to  bid  Karl  farewell.  From  Van  Biene  he  got  Joan  de 
Groot's  address,  the  address  from  which  she  had  sent  the 
papers,  and  Van  Biene  had  fluttered  his  doubts  into 
actuality. 

"  He  has  never  explained  to  you  why  he  bought  those 
Geldenriefs,  has  he?"  Van  Biene  had  asked  casually,  for 
Karl  had  few  business  secrets  from  Van  Biene,  and  it  was 
not  the  sort  of  transaction  that  remains  hidden. 

On  the  voyage  home  Karl  wondered  often  why  Van 
Biene  had  asked  that  question  about  Louis  and  the  Gelden- 
rief  immediately  after  he  had  given  Joan  de  Groot's  ad- 
dress. Had  there  been  a  chink  wherein  they  could  enter,  a 
weak  place  in  Karl's  loyalty  towards  his  adopted  brother, 
the  fluttering  doubts  would  have  made  entrance.  But 
there  were  no  weak  places. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 


KARL  ALTHAUS  landed  in  England  the  third  week  in 
January.  Nothing  was  then  being  spoken  of  in  London 
but  the  Raid,  everywhere  they  were  applauding  the  con- 
duct and  diplomacy  of  the  Colonial  Secretary.  The  feel- 
ing against  the  German  Emperor  was  deep,  but  the  ex- 
pression of  it  was  loud. 

Stephen  Hayward  at  Glasgow  had  gloried  in  our 
"  splendid  isolation."  The  phrase  flattered  the  public 
pride  in  our  national  unpopularity.  It  was  obvious  that 
South  African  politics  had  at  last  won  a  hearing.  At 
Glasgow  and  Manchester,  at  Newcastle,  at  Birmingham, 
at  Wolverhampton,  the  spokesmen  of  the  Government  had 
nothing  to  tell  their  audiences  so  interesting  as  the  truths 
about  the  Transvaal.  They  had  no  difficulty  in  persuading 
their  fellow-countrymen  that,  whether  they  called  it  fili- 
bustering or  the  passionate  patriotism  of  a  forlorn  hope, 
the  leaders  of  that  ill-fated  expedition  were  heroes.  And, 
come  what  might,  their  countrymen  would  stand  by  and 
applaud  them,  and  hold  them  morally  harmless.  Jameson 
and  Willoughby  leaped  into  public  favour  at  a  bound,  a 
position  that  they  have  never  since  done  anything  to 
jeopardise.  In  the  light  of  to-day,  the  sequel  to  their  trial 
reflects  credit  on  the  august  host,  who  threw  open  the 
gates  of  Sandringham,  and  welcomed  one  of  them  as  his 
guest,  straight  from  the  prison  where  he  had  expiated 
his  mistaken  bravery. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Karl  Althaus  to  shriek  the 
Uitlanders'  grievances  and  the  raiders'  justification  into 
the  public  ear.  The  public  mouth  was  shouting  it.  There 
was  no  such  sympathy  for  the  Reform  Leaders,  and  it 
was  with  infinite  difficulty  that  any  show  of  justice  was 

291 


292  PIGS   IN    CLOVER 

gained  for  them.  Their  position  was  misunderstood, 
through  a  series  of  blunders,  and  through  one  man's  in- 
capacity; they  had  been  made  to  appear  cowards  when 
in  truth  they  were  only  fools.  Karl  heard  his  race  and 
his  religion  attacked  because  that  which  it  had  been  im- 
possible to  do  had  not  been  done.  The  press  and  the 
public  were  too  eager  to  exalt  Dr.  Jameson  and  his  band 
to  stop  and  inquire  into  the  real  causes  of  the  disaster. 
The  rashness,  the  impetuosity,  of  the  attacking  force  were 
understood  and  sympathised  with.  The  actual  situation 
of  Johannesburghers  and  the  true  reasons  for  their  inac- 
tion were  not  understood.  Karl  made  himself  hoarse  meta- 
phorically by  shrieking  it,  but  the  truth  of  it  hardly  got 
as  far  as  St.  Stephen's,  it  certainly  never  reached  Printing 
House  Square,  and  outside  London  it  was  lost  in  the 
enthusiasm  for  the  men  who  were  being  conducted  to 
their  trial  in  Bow  Street  through  an  admiring  throng  of 
onlookers. 

Of  course,  also  in  the  light  of  recent  events,  the  at- 
tempt to  occupy,  with  five  hundred  Borderland  Police  and 
a  guarantee  fund  of  sixty-one  thousand  pounds,  a  country 
that  has  taken  over  four  hundred  thousand  soldiers  three 
years  to  conquer,  at  a  cost  of  one  hundred  and  seventy 
millions,  seems  phenomenally  brave  or  abnormally  fool- 
hardy. But  the  "  women  and  children  in  danger"  excuse, 
though  more  subtly  than  realistically  true,  nevertheless 
carried  conviction. 

The  palace  in  Park  Lane  was  ready  now  for  the  occu- 
pancy of  its  master.  It  had  been  understood  that  the  flat 
in  Piccadilly  was  at  the  disposal  of  Louis  and  his  wife, 
but,  on  Karl's  arrival  in  England,  Louis  and  his  wife  were 
not  there. 

The  affair  of  the  Raid  had  displaced  everything  else  in 
Louis's  mind,  and  he  had  bolted  precipitately.  By  the  time 
he  had  assured  his  own  safety  at  sea,  he  had  told  himself 
that  Karl  would  remain  in  Johannesburg.  When  he  had 
heard  Karl  was  in  Cape  Town  he  had  felt  sure  that  his 
brother  would  not  leave  South  Africa  until  the  Reform 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  293 

Leaders  were  tried.  When,  finally,  there  was  no  doubt 
Karl  was  in  England,  Louis  felt  certain  that  if  Joan,  too, 
had  remained  there  he  would  have  heard  from  her.  Karl 
had  no  clue  to  her  whereabouts,  he  was  sure.  Anyway, 
Louis,  watching  to  see  which  way  the  wind  blew,  thought 
he  could  observe  the  meteorological  direction  best  from 
Monte  Carlo.  There  was  perhaps  a  little  constraint  in 
the  letters  the  brothers  interchanged.  Louis  wrote  affec- 
tionately, expecting  praise,  or  at  least  appreciation  of  his 
conduct  of  the  business  of  the  London  firm ;  the  London 
firm  had  been  fully  apprised,  and  was  practically  clear 
of  stock.  The  heavy  fall  in  the  mining  market  some  days 
before  the  Raid  became  a  matter  of  inquiry  afterwards. 
Karl  had  loved  money  all  his  life,  and  was  essentially  a 
business  man,  but  he  was  not  glad  or  proud  of  Louis's 
forethought  about  the  affairs  of  Messrs.  Oldberger  and 
Althaus.  His  letters  were  constrained. 

Karl  was  unhappy  in  that  big  house  in  Park  Lane.  The 
tradespeople  who  waited  deferentially  on  his  doorstep, 
the  curiosity  dealers  who  thrust  their  treasures  upon  his 
notice,  even  the  great  ladies  who  left  sympathetic  paste- 
boards with  a  view  to  the  adjustment  of  their  dressmakers 
and  bookmakers'  accounts,  afforded  no  consolation  for 
him.  He  wanted  an  interview  with  Stephen  Hayward, 
but  Stephen  Hayward  was  in  Glasgow  or  Manchester, 
and  difficult  to  follow.  He  wrote  Karl  quite  curtly,  sug- 
gesting that  she  should  see  the  Colonial  Secretary. 

Karl  saw  Mr.  Chesham,  and  put  that  gentleman  in  full 
possession  of  all  the  facts,  coming  away  from  his  inter- 
view fully  satisfied  that  at  last  Transvaal  affairs  were  in 
good  hands.  Yet,  until  he  had  seen  Stephen,  there  was 
much  that  he  could  not  understand.  Of  course,  when 
Karl  Althaus  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  and 
would  see  Stephen,  Stephen  had  no  escape.  The  very 
night  he  came  back  to  London,  Karl  was  walking  up  and 
down  Grosvenor  Street.  Neither  the  cold  nor  the  sloppy 
wet,  nor  the  fetid  Mayfair  atmosphere  of  dust-bins  and 
decay,  had  prevented  him  from  making  it  his  daily  walk. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

When  Stephen's  cab  drove  up,  and  the  portmanteau  was 
lifted  down,  and  the  neat  statesman  stepped  out,  Karl 
spoke  to  him : 

"  Hayward,  I  must  know  why  you  avoid  me — why  you 
answer  my  letters  curtly.  What  have  I  done  to  you,  man  ? 
i  If  I  have  done  anything,  why  don't  you  want  to  have  it 
'  out  with  me?" 

Stephen  was  taken  aback.  He  had  always  liked  Karl, 
and  he  was  under  obligations  to  him.  That  Louis's  action 
had  been  prompted  by  Karl  seemed  difficult  to  believe 
when  the  man  was  standing  before  him  with  the  same 
straightforward  look  and  outstretched  hand,  and  accents 
that  carried  confidence. 

"  Why  don't  you  want  to  shake  hands  with  me  ?" 

Stephen  put  his  hand  out. 

"  It's  a  cold  night,"  he  said,  and  shivered  slightly ; 
"  I've  had  a  long  journey." 

"  Damn  the  night.    I  want  an  explanation." 

"  Well,  give  me  time  to  have  some  dinner ;  the  door- 
step of  my  own  house  when  a  fog  is  coming  on  is  a  bad 
place  for  explanations.  And  really,  you  know,  I  think 
the  situation  explains  itself." 

"  Will  you  meet  me  at  the  Club  at  nine?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  turn  out  again,"  Stephen  said 
weakly. 

"  Will  you  see  me  here,  in  your  study,  at  nine  ?" 

"  There  is  really  nothing  to  be  said  between  us." 

"  It  is  my  right,  and  I  insist.  We  parted  friends ;  on 
my  part  nothing  has  been  done  to  forfeit  it." 

"  Nothing !    Good  heavens !   you  call  it  nothing  ?" 

The  door  was  open,  the  footman  had  taken  down  the 
portmanteau,  the  butler  had  paid  the  cab.  "  But  there, 
I'll  hear  what  you've  got  to  say.  But  not  here — I'll  meet 
you  at  the  Club  in  an  hour." 

Karl  let  him  go. 

Stephen,  perhaps  in  order  to  elicit  his  own  views,  per- 
haps because,  even  in  that  brief  interview,  Karl  had  be- 
come too  insistent,  too  impressive  for  him  to  ignore,  told 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  295 

Constantia  during  dinner  of  the  meeting,  and  of  the  ap- 
pointment he  had  made.  Whilst  the  servants  were  in  the 
room  she  could  say  nothing,  but  he  noted  with  compunc- 
tion the  flush  that  came  to  her  elderly  grey  face,  the  tre- 
mor in  the  delicate  hands.  Constantia  had  aged  twenty 
years  since  Aline's  second  transgression,  since  John  had 
been  jilted,  and  all  her  plans  proved  abortive. 

He  deprecated  her  anger,  for  that  she  was  angry  he 
could  see. 

"  You  are  very  angry  ?" 

"  You  know  what  I  feel  about  them  all,"  even  her  voice 
had  aged,  had  grown  thin,  and  lost  its  most  gracious 
notes. 

"  But  I  could  not  help  speaking  to  him  on  my  own  door- 
step. It  is  difficult  to  forget  how  much  ease  of  mind  I 
owe  Karl  Althaus." 

"Ease  of  mind?" 

"  Dear  old  Con,"  he  said  gently,  affectionately.  He 
even  went  round  to  her,  an'd  patted  her  shoulders,  and 
stood  there  a  minute.  "  We  have  not  spoken  of  this ; 
there  are  so  many  things  we  have  got  into  the  habit  of 
not  speaking  about." 

"  Not  always  on  my  account,  Steve." 

"  No,  not  on  your  account,  Con,"  and  he  sighed,  paused 
a  moment — "  through  following  Karl  Althaus's  advice  I 
have  been  able  to  redeem  Hadalstone " 

"  But  at  what  a  cost,  Steve,  at  what  a  cost !" 

"You  mean ?" 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  offered  the  Irish  Secretary- 
ship, you  would  have  been  offered  the  Irish  Secretary- 
ship." 

"  You  think  they  have  an  idea " 

"  That  you  have  touched  pitch  ?  I  am  sure  of  it.  And 
now  this  man  has  turned  up  again,  is  seeking  you  out. 
Don't  have  anything  to  do  with  him,  Steve,  don't.  I  have 
a  presentiment — I  had  a  presentiment  from  the  first  mo- 
ment I  saw  him,  him  and  his  horrible  brother,  that  they 
would  do  you  harm." 


296  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself,  Con ;  you  know,  dear,  I 
can  take  care  of  myself." 

"  I've  always  tried  to  take  care  of  you,  haven't  I  ?  of 
you  and  yours,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  and  a  sigh. 

He  was  touched,  he  laid  a  light  kiss  on  her  forehead — 
truly  her  life  had  been  given  to  him.  And  to-night  he 
noted  with  a  strange  pang  that  youth  had  gone  from  her, 
even  gracious  age  had  gone  from  her.  She  was  palsied 
as  if  with  old  age,  she  had  grown  thin. 

"  Poor  old  Con,"  he  said.    "  You  can't  get  over  it." 

"  It  was  a  fine  end  to  my  Social  Crusade." 

"  Don't  you  think,  perhaps,  the  Social  Crusade  was  a 
mistake,  that  we  were  not — not  quite  the  people  for  it?" 
he  said  to  her  very  gently. 

It  was  because  she  had  realised  that,  because  she 
thought  it,  that  she  had  been  so  overcome,  so  prostrated 
by  the  event.  But  it  was  hard  to  own  it,  even  to  Stephen. 
Instead,  she  tried  to  get  him  on  her  side,  tried  to  make 
him  promise  he  would  not  meet  the  man  to-night.  And 
it  was  with  difficulty  he  got  her  to  see  it  was  his  duty, 
yes,  his  and  hers,  to  investigate,  to  make  inquiries ;  not 
to  let  the  girl  go  from  them  as  if  they  had,  indeed,  no  love 
for  her,  as  if  she  were  quite  responsible,  quite  like  other 
girls. 

He  had  no  anger  against  Aline  in  his  heart,  nor  any 
feeling  but  pity,  and  a  hope  that  she  was  not  unhappy. 
Certainly,  in  the  first  flush  of  his  indignation  at  the  elope- 
ment, he  had  cursed  the  Althauses,  root  and  branch,  their 
race,  and  everybody  connected  with  them.  It  is  the  mis- 
fortune of  the  Jews  that  one  of  their  community  cannot 
misbehave  without  earning  opprobrium  for  their  whole 
body.  The  prejudice  is  still  very  vivid  and  real,  however 
it  may  be  glozed  over  by  civilised  thought  and  cultivated 
reason.  Stephen  had,  by  now,  reasoned  himself  out  of 
his  mental  attitude;  and  he  tried,  but  unsuccessfully,  to 
reason  Constantia  out  of  hers.  His  quarrel  with  Karl 
was  of  a  different  nature.  He  had  considered  the  situ- 
ation impersonally.  It  seemed  to  him  that,  of  her  own 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  297 

free  will,  Aline  would  never  have  left  the  shelter  of  her 
home,  and  abandoned  all  her  conventions;  it  seemed  to 
him  that  pressure  must  have  been  brought  to  bear  upon 
her.  And  that  pressure,  Stephen  more  than  suspected, 
remembering  Louis,  and  his  interview  with  Louis,  must 
have  been  the  threat  of  revealing  the  old  story. 

From  whom  could  Louis  Althaus  have  heard  the  old 
story  but  from  Karl,  and  what  motive  could  Karl  have 
had  for  telling  it  but  to  secure  his  alliance,  this  Hayward 
interest,  on  which  he  had  ever  placed  so  exaggerated  a 
value?  This  was  what  had  moved  him  to  deep  anger 
against  Karl,  who  had  been  his  friend,  his  treacherous 
friend.  He  was  hot  with  anger  and  indignation  against 
him  because  he  had  done  this  mean  thing,  used  his  knowl- 
edge of  a  weak-minded  girl's  secret  as  a  lever  to  work 
upon  her  fears.  For  this  is  what  Stephen  thought — had 
persuaded  himself  to  think. 

To-night,  when  he  saw  Karl  on  the  doorstep,  heard  his 
voice,  and  ignored  his  outstretched  hand,  it  did  not  seem 
so  easy  to  believe.  And  even  as  Constantia  talked,  and 
tried  to  move  him  to  indignation,  so  did  he  become  less 
and  less  sure  that  Karl  Althaus  had  done  this  thing  for 
which  he  was  harbouring  resentment. 

At  the  Club,  later  on,  when  Karl's  big  figure  and 
rugged  features  came  in  sight  again,  he  had  a  certain 
impulse  to  apologise,  to  hold  out  his  hand  and  say :  "  I 
beg  your  pardon."  But  Karl  gave  him  no  opening,  he 
offered  no  greeting.  He  had  been  walking  about  since 
he  had  left  Stephen,  in  the  cold  February  fog;  he  could 
not  understand  it  at  all,  he  had  done  nothing  but  good 
to  Stephen.  As  far  as  he  knew,  there  had  not  been  a 
deal  through  him,  or  through  his  firm,  that  had  not  come 
up  trumps. 

And  yet  the  man  refused  to  shake  hands  with  him, 
didn't  want  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Damned  if  I  can  understand  it,"  was  his  last  com- 
ment, as  he  gulped  down  his  dinner  and  prepared  for  the 
interview. 


298  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Stephen  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  smoking-room. 
From  this  very  room  Stephen  had  followed  Louis  to  Pic- 
cadilly, and  there  had  contemptuously  refused  him  as  a 
suitor  for  his  daughter.  Karl's  cablegram  as  to  the  settle- 
ments had  reached  him  after  Louis  had  abducted  the  girl, 
for  abduction  Stephen  considered  it.  How  rashly  he  had 
concluded  Karl  had  been  a  party  to  the  act!  Here,  face 
to  face  with  the  man  himself,  it  seemed  he  had  jumped 
to  a  rash  conclusion. 

"Well,  what's  the  offence?    What  have  I  done?" 

The  rugged  features  and  tangled  thatch  of  grey  hair, 
the  searching  eyes  and  unaffected  manners  had  not  al- 
tered. What,  then,  had  altered?  They  were  practically 
alone,  for  the  fog  was  filling  the  room,  and  they  stood  in 
the  shadow  of  it. 

Stephen  had  to  recall  his  anger,  his  bitterness.  He 
advanced,  he  half  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"  Not  me !  You've  refused  to  shake  hands  with  me  on 
your  own  doorstep.  I'm  not  asking  any  man  twice.  But 
what's  it  all  about  ?  That's  what  I  want  to  know.  What 
have  I  done  to  you?" 

"  You  don't  think  I've  any  cause  for  anger  against  you, 
any  grievance?"  asked  Stephen  quickly,  but  feeling, 
nevertheless,  doubtful  and  in  the  wrong. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,  not  through  my  fault.  I  sup- 
pose"— Karl  moved  over  to  the  fire,  stood  before  it — "  I 
suppose  Louis  gave  you  the  tip?"  He  was  getting  at  it 
slowly,  he  had  been  turning  it  over  in  his  own  mind  on 
his  way  to  the  Club,  and  whilst  he  had  been  bolting  his 
dinner,  and  he  thought  he  began  to  see  daylight.  "  You 
got  the  tip  about  the  Raid,  and  you  sold  stock — a  bear? 
And  they've  got  to  know,  and  have  rounded  on  you  ?  So 
you  round  on  me,  but  what " 

"  Not  a  stock,  not  a  share.  Since  you  wrote  me  it  was 
time  to  give  over  speculating  and  invest  what  I'd  made, 
I  haven't  had  a  transaction,"  Stephen  said  earnestly. 
"  I've  sold  nothing  since  the  Bank  shares ;  you  know  what 
I  made  over  that.  I'm  quite  ready  to  admit  you've  been 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  299 

a  good  friend  to  me  in  the  past;  I  know  what  you've 
done."  He  flushed,  and  the  flush  hurt  Karl. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Hayward.  I'm  sorry  I  asked  you 
that,  if  it  isn't  that ;  but  I  can't  make  out  what  has  come 
between  us.  You're  not  the  man  to  blame  me  for  what 
happened  out  there,  to  make  it  a  personal  matter.  I 
never  got  it  straight  from  you  what  you  expected  us  to  do. 
By  hurrying  on  the  marriage  and  sending  them  out " 

"What— what ?" 

"  Without  waiting  for  settlements  or  anything." 

"  Good  heavens !" 

"  Giving  your  daughter  to  Louis,  and  sending " 

"  Giving — giving —  I  would  rather  have  seen  her  dead 
at  my  feet  a  thousand  times " 

"  Hayward !" 

"  Do  you  mean  you  don't  know?" 

"  Know  what  ?  Get  on,  man,  what  are  you  trying  to 
tell  me,  what  are  you  telling  me  ?  Get  on,  for  God's  sake, 
get  on.  Didn't  you  give  her  to  Louis?  Didn't  you  send 
her  out  to  us  as  a  sign,  didn't  you  ?" 

He  caught  hold  of  Stephen,  it  seemed  as  if  he  would 
have  shaken  him ;  but  Stephen  was  glad  of  that  rude  hold 
on  his  shoulder,  of  that  impatient  questioning. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Althaus.  Forgive  me,  I've  been 
a  fool,  of  course  I've  been  a  fool." 

"  Didn't  you  send  her  out  to  us  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  could  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to 
tnink  you  knew.  Gently,  now,  gently,"  he  smiled  under 
that  impatient  hand. 

"  Louis  didn't  lie  to  me  ?"    It  was  a  horrible  thought. 

"  He  ran  away  with  her.  She  was  engaged  to  her 
cousin.  Of  course  you  did  not  know;  I  was  a  fool  to 
suspect  you.  But  the  man  threatened  me,  I  suppose  he 
threatened  her,  with  raking  up  that  old  story;  nobody 
but  you  knew  it — I  thought — forgive  me,  old  fellow." 

Karl's  hand  had  left  his  shoulder,  the  blow  was  so  un- 
expected ;  Karl  reeled  under  it,  caught  his  breath,  he 
sank  into  a  chair. 


300  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Wait  a  minute,  I  haven't  got  it  clear — wait.  They 
ran  away!  But  I  cabled  you,  Hayward,  I  cabled  you 
myself." 

"  I  got  the  message  a  week  after  they  had  left !" 

"  But " 

"  I'm  sorry,  Althaus,  I'm  a  thousand  times  sorry.  Try 
and  look  at  it  from  my  point  of  view.  You  knew  this 
secret,  no  one  else  knew  it,  and  you  wanted  my  political 
support,  for  what  it  was  worth." 

"  You  thought  I  betrayed  the  secret  I'd  got  from  you  ?" 

"  The  man  knew  it." 

"  Not  from  me — an  unguarded  word  perhaps !  But 
Louis,  no!  I  don't  believe  it  of  the  boy!  I  don't  know 
what  I  meant  to  do  myself  when  I  started  on  you.  But 
you've  knocked  me  out  of  time;  neither  of  them  said  a 
word — so  you  never  sent  her!  And  you  thought  I'd 
arranged  it — you  wouldn't  speak  to  me,  you  didn't  want 
to  speak  to  me!" 

"  But  I  do  now ;  that  adopted  brother  of  yours  is  a 
scoundrel." 

"  No,  no." 

"  What's  the  use  of  not  looking  facts  in  the  face  ?  If 
he  were  your  real  relation,  if  he  had  any  real  hold  on 
you " 

"Man  alive,  he's  all  the  hold  I've  got.  I've  brought 
him  up  from  a  baby.  You  don't  know  what  it  is,  you 

fellows,  the  way  we  care  about  each  other "  Karl's 

voice  broke. 

"  Well !" 

"  Oh !  I  know,  I  know  all  you're  going  to  say.  But 
I  must  hear  his  story.  He  didn't  do  it  to  harm  me,  did 
he?  Whose  interests  do  you  think  he  had  in  his  mind? 
He  may  have  blundered ;  I  brought  him  up  badly,  I 
wasn't  so  straight  myself.  Leave  off  trying  to  turn  me 
against  the  boy;  you're  not  the  only  one  that's  been  at 
it.  But  no  one  can  come  between  me  and  Louis.  It 
was  me  he  was  thinking  of ;  I  can  see  that  clear  enough. 
He  ought  to  have  told  me  he  had  stolen  her,  but,  after 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  301 

all,  he  knew  what  she  was  wanted  for.  And  at  the  end 
you  see  he  thought  of  her,  and  of  you ;  he  wouldn't  com- 
mit you " 

"  I  suppose  it  never  strikes  you  he  thought  of  him- 
self?" 

"  Leave  it  off ;  it's  no  good.  I  know  the  boy ;  there 
may  be  cleverer  fellows  than  my  Louis,  but  he  has  got 
a  good  heart,  I  tell  you.  You  knocked  me  out  of  time 
for  the  moment,  but  I'm  coming  round.  Threatened  her ! 
You  bet  she  didn't  need  any  threatening.  Why,  the 
women  have  been  round  Louis  like  flies  about  honey  ever 
since  he's  been  so  high,"  Karl  said,  placing  his  big  hand 
about  a  foot  from  the  floor. 

He  was  trying  to  convince  himself,  to  reassure  himself, 
as  he  talked.  Stephen  saw  that. 

"  You  can't  let  him  go  ?"   he  asked  curiously. 

"  He  was  thinking  of  my  interests ;  he  has  always 
been  true  to  me.  He  half  ruined  himself  at  that  very 
time  over  a  mine  we've  got  hold  of.  He  was  guarding 
the  name;  he  likes  to  hear  people  speak  of  the  Althaus 
stocks  as  Ai." 

Stephen  was  sorry  for  Karl,  sorry  he  had  suspected  him 
of  underhand  dealing,  sorry  he  had  tried  to  take  away  his 
confidence  in  the  blackguard  to  whom  he  had  given  his 
name.  Sore  and  angry  as  Stephen  was  over  the  marriage, 
over  his  daughter's  second  betrayal,  her  deception,  her 
flight,  he  could  turn  aside  from  the  contemplation  of  his 
own  wrongs  to  consider  Karl.  The  millionaire  was  so 
obviously  startled  and  thunderstruck  by  the  discovery  of 
the  treachery  of  which  Stephen  and  Stephen's  daughter 
had  been  the  victims,  and  of  course  he  had  not  betrayed 
the  girl's  secret.  Thinking  things  over,  he  remembered 
Louis  had  started,  had  been  surprised  at  something  in  that 
interview.  Karl  had  spoken  the  truth,  he  had  let  fall 
an  unguarded  word,  and  the  traitorous  fellow  had  seized 
upon  it.  Stephen  set  himself,  strange  politician  that  he 
was,  to  the  diplomatic  task  of  restoring  Karl's  balance, 
and  establishing  the  status  quo  ante  in  their  relations. 


302  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

He  succeeded ;  but  the  assault  on  Karl's  loyalty  to  Louis 
this  time  had  been  severe,  the  edifice  was  shaken. 

The  two  men  talked  far  into  the  night.  They  talked 
no  more  of  Louis  or  of  Aline,  but  of  patriotism  and 
Imperialism.  Stephen  saw  far  into  the  simplicity  and 
into  the  strength  of  his  companion ;  there  was  no  subtlety 
about  Karl ;  he  was  as  ready  to  talk  of  his  failure  with 
the  Reform  league  as  he  had  ever  been  to  talk  of  his 
early  poverty  and  privation.  He  made  no  complaint  of 
anybody;  the  delayed  guns,  the  miscalculated  ammuni- 
tion, the  misunderstood,  badly  worded  telegrams  did  not 
dwell  with  him  as  grievances.  The  thing  had  been  mud- 
dled, there  was  no  good  looking  at  details,  crying  over 
spilt  milk;  to  wipe  the  slate  clean  as  quickly  as  possible 
was  all  that  he  wanted  to  do.  And  he  felt  he  had  been 
at  fault,  somewhere. 

But  Stephen,  listening,  loathed  his  son-in-law  with  a 
great  loathing,  and  wondered  at  Karl's  blindness.  That 
there  was  more  for  Karl  to  learn  he  suspected,  al- 
though his  ignorance  of  much  in  Louis's  history  made 
him  look  for  the  scent  of  it  in  the  wrong  direction. 
Louis's  treachery  he  understood,  Louis's  motive  he  could 
not  quite  see. 

Karl  walked  home  with  Stephen,  because  of  the  fog, 
because  he  did  not  want  to  be  alone,  to  think,  to  examine 
into  that  shaken  edifice  of  his  trust  in  Louis;  and  he 
knew  Stephen  still  was  his  friend.  He  smothered  the 
slender  figure  in  his  own  fur  coat,  made  him  put  his 
handkerchief  over  his  mouth,  held  him  by  the  arm  and 
led  him  carefully,  showing  him  he  resented  nothing,  show- 
ing him  he  was  glad  in  their  renewed  intercourse,  show- 
ing him  also,  but  this  unwittingly,  how  the  revelation  of 
Louis's  turpitude  had  affected  and  hurt  him.  His  heart 
was  heavy  as  he  walked  back  alone  to  that  palatial  man- 
sion in  Park  Lane.  The  shaken  citadel  of  his  confidence 
in  Louis  made  all  the  world  about  him  unsteady.  He 
could  not  but  feel  he  had  been  treated  unfairly,  and  that 
by  Louis.  Why  had  no  confidence  been  given  him  ?  He 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  303 

solaced  himself  by  trying  to  make  excuses  to  himself, 
even  as  he  had  made  them  to  Stephen,  but  somehow  they 
rang  false  and  empty. 

Louis  had  been  travelling,  moving  about,  showing  his 
wife  the  Continent,  or  the  Continent  his  wife.  In  any 
case,  with  Susan  to  accompany  them,  Louis  had,  as  he 
announced  to  Karl,  taken  his  belated  honeymoon.  Karl 
had  not  answered  his  letters,  but  Louis  had  not  taken  that 
seriously;  Karl  was  always  desultory  in  his  correspond- 
ence. And  Louis,  like  a  child  who  knew  he  deserved 
punishment,  was  glad  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the 
authorities.  Karl  was  the  authority  he  feared  most.  It 
was  his  fault  the  arms  had  not  arrived  in  time,  the  am- 
munition was  short,  Jameson  had  been  expedited,  and 
Johannesburg  delayed.  He  had  muddled  matters,  he 
knew  it  well  enough.  He  had  been  half-hearted,  as  he 
was  always  half-minded.  He  had  been  impulsive  and 
enthusiastic  in  Cape  Town  when  he  thought  it  vital  to 
keep  Karl  in  South  Africa ;  he  had  even  had  short  bursts 
of  enthusiasm  when  this  or  that  interested  speculator  had 
persuaded  him  that  if  the  Chartered  Company,  Gold 
Fields,  and  De  Beers  seized  the  Transvaal,  all  their  prop- 
erties— the  properties  in  which  he  and  Karl  were  so 
largely  interested — would  be  tremendously  augmented  in 
value,  and,  rich  as  they  all  were,  they  would  double  or 
treble  their  possessions.  If  they  had  less  freightage,  no 
duty  on  dynamite,  and  fewer  taxes ;  if  they  governed  the 
country  themselves  in  safety  and  economy,  it  was  a  miner- 
alised Piccadilly  they  would  have,  a  Tom  Tiddler's  ground, 
on  which  no  one  but  themselves  might  pick  up  gold. 

But  he  had  grown  doubtful  from  time  to  time,  afraid 
of  the  oligarchy,  of  having  to  fight,  of  disturbing  the 
state  of  things  under  which  they  had,  so  far,  done  so  well. 
All  his  actions  were  guided  by  all  his  changes  of  points 
of  view.  Now  he  had  ordered  arms,  now  he  had  hesitated 
at  forwarding  them,  now  he  had  calculated  the  ammuni- 
tion required,  now  he  had  neglected  to  provide  it.  In 
short,  he  had  muddled. 


304.  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Of  course  he  was  ready  after  the  event  to  exonerate 
himself,  and,  as  many  prominent  people  were  ready  and 
anxious  to  accept  all  responsibility,  he  and  his  commis- 
sions and  omissions  were  left  in  the  background. 

Before  he  returned  to  England  from  the  Continent  to 
which  he  had  fled,  he  had  persuaded  himself  that  he  had 
no  cause  for  self-reproach,  that  he  was  a  very  fine  fellow 
and  deserving  of  some  of  the  public  appreciation  that  was 
being  lavished  on  Jameson  and  Willoughby. 

For  the  moment,  too,  he  had  forgotten  what  had  first 
led  him  into  the  imbroglio,  forgotten  Joan  and  his  anxiety 
lest  Karl  should  find  Joan.  The  larger  events  of  which 
the  papers  and  the  public  mind  were  so  full  had  eclipsed 
her. 

He  was  surprised  not  to  find  Karl  waiting  for  him  at 
the  station,  disappointed  to  find  no  greeting  or  message 
from  him.  He  had  apprised  Karl  by  telegraph  from  Paris 
of  his  return;  he  fully  expected  to  see  him  on  the  plat- 
form at  Victoria,  to  learn  that  the  rooms  were  in  readi- 
ness, to  be  welcomed  as  usual.  Karl  had  had  occasions 
before  this  to  be  vexed  with  Louis ;  but  Louis  had  always 
kept  out  of  the  way  a  little  while,  and  been  greeted  open- 
armed  on  his  return.  Louis  had  been  more  than  a  son 
to  Karl ;  prodigal  or  otherwise,  he  had  been  all  the  oldef 
man  had  had  to  care  for. 

Louis  looked  well  and  handsome  and  self-satisfied  when 
he  arrived  at  Victoria  Station  that  March  evening;  he 
was  thoroughly  self-content.  The  ensuing  London  sea- 
son, he  thought,  would  see  him  no  less  the  hero  of  it 
because  he  was  married  to  Stephen  Hayward's  daughter, 
•  and  he  had  been  instrumental  in  providing  for  the  Ex- 
pedition against  the  Transvaal.  He  understood  that  all 
but  the  Reform  Leaders  were  to  be  lionised.  He  was  sur- 
prised and  a  little  chilled  that  Karl  had  not  met  him  at 
the  station,  and,  failing  an  invitation  and  direct  intima- 
tion, he  went  to  the  Savoy  Hotel  instead  of  to  the  rooms 
in  Piccadilly.  But  he  was  not  surprised  when,  almost 
before  he  had  finished  dinner,  his  brother  was  ushered  in. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  305 

"  This  is  good  of  you,  Karl ;  I  half  expected  you  at  the 
station,  but  I  suppose  you  never  got  my  wire." 

"  Oh,  I  got  your  wire  right  enough." 

Louis  was  dining  in  his  own  private  room,  alone  with 
his  wife.  Karl  had  come  there  to  talk  to  him,  to  talk 
straight  to  him,  because  he  could  not  let  things  drift, 
because  he  wanted  to  have  it  out  with  Louis  and  know 
why  he  himself  had  been  deceived.  There  was  something 
else  in  Karl's  mind — something  he  had  not  voiced  to  him- 
self, something  that  tore  at  him,  and  clamoured  for  utter- 
ance. But  there  sat  Louis,  handsome  and  happy  and  well- 
groomed,  with  his  wife  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  and 
waiters  in  the  room.  The  position  was  difficult,  impossi- 
ble. It  was  like  Karl  to  rush  round  to  the  hotel,  suddenly 
and  impetuously  to  make  up  his  mind  to  put  everything 
before  Louis,  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say  for  himself — 
like  Karl  too  not  to  consider  the  difficulties. 

Louis  got  up  quickly  from  the  table,  greeted  him 
warmly,  looked  evidently  for  the  same  affection,  and  was 
eager  to  show  his. 

"  It's  good  to  see  you  again,  old  chap.  I  only  heard 
you  had  been  ill  when  I  got  to  Madeira.  I  ought  to  have 
been  with  you.  How  often  you  nursed  me  through  ill- 
nesses when  I  was  young,  and  never  gave  me  a  chance 
in  return.  And  now  you  just  managed  to  be  knocked 
up  when  I  was  out  of  reach.  You  are  all  right  now, 
aren't  you?  You're  looking  fit."  He  surveyed  Karl  af- 
iectionately,  with  obvious  interest.  "  I  believe  you've  put 
on  flesh,  and  you've  got  smartened  up.  What's  come  to 
you  ?  I'm  hanged  if  that  isn't  a  Poole  coat." 

Karl  could  not  but  respond.  He  had  come  there  to 
question  Louis,  to  make  him  explain  himself,  perhaps  to 
be  reassured  by  him;  and  here  was  Louis,  with  eager 
welcoming  voice  and  outstretched  hands.  All  his  life  he 
had  loved  the  handsome  fellow,  and  been  proud  of  him 
and  of  his  affection.  What  a  man  does  for  over  thirty 
years,  habitually,  becomes  so  ingrained  that  to  change 
conduct  is  to  change  individuality.  He  shook  his  brother's 


306  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

hand — he  was  glad  again  in  the  young  man's  beauty  and 
health.  He  thought  he  had  been  a  traitor  to  doubt  him 
or  his  affection;  the  hand-shake  lingered. 

"  Go  on  with  your  dinner ;  don't  mind  me,"  he  said 
hastily.  "  You're  looking  well  too." 

Louis  knew — knew  in  a  moment.  That  sympathetic, 
adaptive  faculty  of  his,  one  of  the  secrets  of  his  successes 
with  women,  told  him  his  brother  had  come  there  to 
quarrel  with  him,  to  upbraid  him.  Round  and  round  the 
cage  of  his  little  mind  flew  his  little  thoughts.  Was  it 
details  of  his  management  in  Cape  Town?  Was  it  the 
Geldenrief?  Was  it — was  it — Joan? 

But,  quickly  as  the  little  thoughts  flew  round  that  little 
mind,  quicker  still  was  his  determination  that,  whatever 
it  was  his  brother  had  come  to  upbraid  him  about,  he 
should  deny  it,  he  should  defend  himself;  and  his  first 
defence,  and,  as  he  well  knew,  his  most  potent  defence, 
was  his  affection.  He  resumed  his  seat  at  the  table,  and 
he  went  on  talking.  He  told  Karl  how  he  had  missed  him 
these  six  months,  pressed  whisky  and  cigars  on  him, 
talked  little  of  his  journey  and  much  of  his  longing  for 
Karl's  scanty  letters.  He  wholly  ignored  Karl's  silence 
and  uneasy  attitude. 

"  And  now,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  pushing  his  plate  away 
and  his  chair  back,  "  I  am  ready  for  our  chat.  I  see  you 
want  to  tell  me  no  end  of  things,  and  Aline  won't  mind 
if  I  ask  her  to  leave  us." 

Aline  never  minded.  She  had  been  thrust  further  and 
further  back  from  Louis's  confidence,  but  his  confidence 
she  had  never  had.  Her  dull  mind  had  taken  in  more 
quickly  than  Joan's  intelligent  one  that  she  had  made  a 
mistake  in  her  marriage.  Things  that  would  not  have 
jarred  on  Joan  hurt  Aline.  If  the  analogy  of  the  Princess 
and  the  Pea  does  not  quite  fit  the  situation  it  anyway  sug- 
gests it.  Aline  knew  that  Louis  was  not  a  gentleman, 
and  she  also  knew  that  he  was  too  intimate,  too  familiar 
with  her  maid.  A  more  normal  woman  would  have 
shown  active  resentment,  Aline's  was  passive.  She  left 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  307 

the  two  men  easily  enough  to  their  talk,  when  the  table 
had  been  cleared  and  the  waiters  had  withdrawn. 

"  And  now  draw  up  your  chair,  and  let's  be  comfort- 
able, and  tell  me  all  about  everything." 

"  I  have  had  a  long  talk  with  Stephen  Hayward,"  Karl 
said  uneasily.  How  he  hated  to  find  fault  with  this  hand- 
some, debonair  fellow ;  but  he  must  get  to  the  truth,  he 
must  find  out  why  Louis  had  left  him  under  the  impres- 
sion that  it  was  with  Stephen's  concurrence  he  had 
brought  the  latter's  daughter  to  Cape  Town. 

Louis  smiled,  turned  up  the  brushed  end  of  his  mous- 
tache, stroked  his  imperial,  took  his  cigarette  out  of  his 
mouth.  He  saw  his  influence  reasserting  itself,  that, 
whatever  Karl  had  felt  recently  when  he  had  entered  the 
room,  would  come  from  him  now  with  reluctance,  with 
toleration,  as,  indeed,  Karl  had  always  treated  his  pecca- 
dilloes. 

"  Oh,  so  you  have  seen  Stephen !  And  you  have  heard 
that  Aline  and  I  didn't  exactly  wait  for  his  consent  to 
our  nuptials,  and  you're  angry  with  me  because  I  didn't 
tell  you  before?" 

"  It  wasn't  fair,"  said  Karl  reluctantly ;  "  you  know  it 
wasn't  fair,  Louis.  I  suppose  it  wasn't  true — "  He  hesi- 
tated, he  could  not  bring  it  over  his  lips  to  ask  Louis  if 
he  had  used  a  secret  that  he  knew  concerning  the  girl  as 
a  lever  to  wrest  her  consent  from  her. 

"  What  isn't  true  ?"  asked  Louis,  blowing  smoke-rings 
Jjghtly  from  his  cigarette. 

Louis  was  immensely  relieved  at  finding  it  was  Aline, 
and  neither  Joan  nor  the  Geldenrief,  about  Afrhich  Karl 
was  going  to  upbraid  him.  The  mere  shred  of  a  con- 
science he  possessed  had  not  been  touched  by  his  be- 
haviour to  Stephen.  There,  at  least,  he  felt  himself  com- 
pletely justified. 

Karl  answered  him,  but  not  without  going  over  to  him 
and  standing  by  his  side,  to  soften  the  words  he  never- 
theless must  speak. 

"  True  that  you  dragged  up  that  old  story?" 


308  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Oh,  that  is  what  he  said,  is  it?" 

"  You  didn't  do  it,  Louis  ?"  Karl  pleaded  with  him  to 
deny  it. 

"  What  does  it  matter  what  I  did  or  what  I  did  not  do  ? 
You  are  such  a  fussy  fellow.  Anyway  I  married  the  girl, 
history  or  no  history,  so  what  the  deuce  have  they  got  to 
complain  of?  Sit  down,  Karl,  give  us  your  hand  first," 
he  held  his  up  to  him,  "  and  don't  drag  the  red  herring 
of  my  running  away  with  Aline  across  the  path  if  you 
have  got  any  real  fault  to  find  with  me.  Come  now,  I 
can  see  you  are  hipped,  out  of  sorts,  what  have  I  done? 
I  thought  there  was  something  when  you  didn't  turn  up 
at  Victoria.  Who  has  been  making  mischief  between 
us?  It's  that  precious  father-in-law  of  mine,  I  suppose. 
He  told  me  I  was  insolent,  insolent  when  I  asked  him 
to  give  me  the  girl.  I  think  I  have  taught  him  a  lesson, 
and  I  have  not  done  with  him  yet." 

"  But  it  was  a  dirty  trick,"  persisted  Karl,  "  if  you  used 
that  secret,  those  few  words  I  let  fall,  the  trick  of  a 
scoundrel.  You  didn't  do  it,  boy,  tell  me?"  his  voice 
pleaded  for  the  contradiction. 

"  Scoundrel,  indeed !  That's  a  tall  order.  You  have 
done  some  Kaffirs  out  of  concessions  in  your  time,  to  say 
nothing  of  some  little  Stock  Exchange  tricks.  Don't 
come  the  high  horse  over  me,  Karl.  I  know  you  have 
been  a  very  good  brother  to  me,  but  I  am  hanged  if  I 
should  call  you  a  saint." 

"  To  take  advantage  of  a  half-witted  girl  like  that !" 

"  I  say,"  said  Louis,  flicking  his  cigarette  ash,  and  with 
a  certain  assumption  of  dignity,  but  watching  Karl  very 
closely,  "  I  really  can't  allow  you  to  speak  of  my  wife 
like  that.  Aline  has  got  her  wits  about  her  right  enough. 
You  ask  Worth." 

"  Damn  Worth !  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  it  was  runa- 
way match?" 

Louis  was  watching  Karl,  because  it  seemed  to  him  that 
there  was  something  else  underneath  his  restlessness  and 
obvious  distress.  Karl  was  unlike  himself.  Less  self- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  309 

confident,  less  overwhelming,  than  usual.  Somehow  or 
other  he  seemed  to  have  shrunk.  It  was  not  within 
Louis's  capacity  to  realise  what  a  blow  it  would  be  to 
Karl  to  find  him  completely  unworthy ;  and  Karl  had  said 
nothing  to  lead  Louis  to  suppose  that  he  had  any  clue 
to  the  way  in  which  he  had  wronged  him  most. 

"  You  were  mad  enough  for  the  Hayward's  support  in 
your  enterprise,  and  there  was  no  other  way  of  getting 
it  for  you.  It  was  not  my  fault  if  you  deluded  yourself 
into  the  belief  that  the  Haywards  had  rushed  at  me  with 
the  girl.  That  is  the  worst  of  you,  Karl,"  looking  up 
with  the  sudden  idea  that  it  was  best  to  carry  the  war 
into  the  enemy's  camp.  "  You  do  jump  to  conclusions. 
That  Raid  business,  now;  you  know  you  jumped  at  the 
conclusion  you  were  going  to  be  supported  from  home, 
and  then  you  jumped  at  the  conclusion  that  you  were  not, 
and  rushed  back  without  waiting  to  think  how  bad  it 
looked.  It  looked  awfully  bad,  you  know,  that  you  were 
not  with  the  others." 

Karl  was  startled.  "  Well,  of  all  the  infernal — "  and 
then  his  sense  of  justice  choked  and  silenced  him.  It 
had  looked  bad,  even  to  himself. 

"  There  is  no  good  getting  in  a  rage,  old  chap,"  went 
on  Louis,  smiling  at  the  success  of  his  manoeuvre. 
"  You'll  know  I'm  right  when  you  think  it  over ;  you 
ought  to  have  stayed  and  seen  it  out." 

"  But  you — you  wired  for  me !" 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all,  you  are  my  brother,  my  more  than 
brother.  I  was  bound  to  give  you  the  tip  that  the  bubble 
had  burst ;  but  I  didn't  expect  that  you  would  think  only 
of  yourself,  I  really  didn't.  I  thought  better  of  you,  old 
man.  Of  course  it  doesn't  make  any  difference,  I  mean 
I  don't  care  for  you  any  less — we've  only  got  each  other. 
But  it  didn't  seem  the  right  thing  to  do  to  leave  them  to 
bear  all  the  brunt." 

Karl,  after  he  had  tugged  at  the  window-blind  and 
thrown  open  the  window,  and  muttered  that  it  was  "  in- 
fernally hot,"  found  himself  voicing  his  justification. 


310  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  There  seemed  nothing  to  be  done  there  at  the  mo- 
ment. I  thought  Jameson  had  been  stopped,  and  every- 
thing was  held  over,  we  all  thought  so.  There  were  two 
thousand  rifles,  and  less  than  half-a-million  rounds  of 
ammunition,  there  were  seven  Maxims,  and  nothing  to 
serve  them  with.  It  was  a  hopeless  muddle,  and  Wolff 
nowhere  to  be  found.  Then  your  wire  came,  and  by 
'  Flotation  postponed'  of  course  I  thought  the  whole  thing 
had  been  put  off.  I  was  bound  to  find  Wolff,  and  to  see 
Rhodes  and  try  to  get  things  straight.  If  there  was  to 
be  fighting  we  weren't  half  prepared.  Everything  had 
been  muddled.  I  never  guessed,  never  dreamed,  that 
Jameson  would  move  whether  we  sent  for  him  or  not. 
Do  you  think  I  would  not  have  warned  the  women,  have 
taken  them  with  me?  There  were  dozens  of  women  in 
Johannesburg,  and,  when  it  came  to  it,  the  Boer  guns 
were  trained  on  the  place,  and  there  were  forty  thousand 
people  in  jeopardy.  Do  you  think,  if  I  had  guessed,  I 
wouldn't  have  seen  that  at  least  our  own  women,  the 
wives  of  the  Reformers  and  their  friends,  were  in  safety. 
As  it  was,  I  told  Lady  Sarah  to  be  prepared ;  I  expected 
to  be  back  within  the  week." 

"  Oh !  that's  all  very  well.  But  I  can  tell  you  I've  heard 
people  say  very  nasty  things  about  it,  even  about  your 
telling  no  one  but  Lady  Sarah !  One  woman  is  as  good 
as  another,  people  say,  and  why  did  he  only  try  to  save 
the  aristocrat?  Never  mind,  old  man,"  he  stretched  him- 
self out,  and  put  his  arm  over  his  shoulder  in  the  old 
familiar  way,  "  it's  no  matter  to  me  what  you  do,  dear 
old  Karl ;  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again." 

"  Well,"  Karl  answered,  mollified  in  spite  of  himself, 
by  that  caress — he  could  not  help  being  proud  of  Louis's 
cleverness — "  I  suppose  you  are  satisfied.  You  think  you 
have  made  a  fool  of  your  old  brother  once  again,  that  I 
am  not  to  say  a  word  about  that  runaway  match  of  yours, 
so  that  you  may  forgive  me  for  making  a  fool  of  myself 
over  this  Johannesburg  business,  and  now  that  it  is  all 
straight  between  us,  you  want  to  leave  it  to  me  to  try 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  311 

and  make  things  right  between  you  and  your  father-in- 
law." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  care  a  damn  whether 
you  do,  or  you  don't.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  want 
Stephen  Hay  ward,  and,  as  I  understand  you  control  his 
money  matters,  you  can  make  it  worth  his  while  to  behave 
decently  to  us  if  you  think  it  worth  doing.  But  I  am  not 
going  to  kootoo  to  him.  He  owes  me  an  apology,  after 
all.  I  should  think  I  am  good  enough  even  for  his 
daughter,"  and  Louis  strolled  towards  the  glass  and  sur- 
veyed himself  with  unmistakable  satisfaction.  "  Why,  I 
could  have  married  Lady  Violet  Alncaster;  I  never  told 
you  about  that,  did  I  ?" 

"  No,  but  we  will  leave  that  over  a  bit.  There  are  one 
or  two  things  that  ought  to  be  cleared  up  between  us. 
Don't  be  hurt  at  what  I'm  going  to  say,  Louis.  But  the 
Geldenrief,  now,  how  about  the  Geldenrief?  See,  dear 
boy,  don't  mind  if  I  am  a  bit  upset  to-night,  I  have  had 
a  lot  to  worry  me,  and  there  are  things  I  don't  under- 
stand ;  Van  Biene  hinted  at  something,  and  I  must  admit 
I'm  troubled  in  my  mind.  Nothing  must  come  between 
us.  You're  right  there.  When  you  bought  those  Gelden- 
rief shares  did  you  know  anything  about  the  deep,  any- 
thing you  had  not  told  me  ?  Louis,  forgive  me  for  asking 
you,  had  you  met,  talked  to,  heard  anything  from,  Joan 
de  Groot?" 

The  name  drove  the  colour  from  Louis's  cheek,  "  Joan 
de  Groot?"  he  repeated. 

Karl,  who  had  never  been  a  dull  man,  was  struck  by 
that  change  of  colour,  by  that  halting  answer.  He  spoke 
sharply  now  in  his  anxiety :  "  Joan  de  Groot — you  were 
on  the  same  boat  with  her,  you  travelled  home  with  her ; 
you  talked  about  the  farm?  I  told  you  not  to  lose  sight 
of  her,  to  get  clear  with  her.  Come,  where  is  she?  She 
did  not  answer  my  letter.  My  mind  misgives  me  that 
there  has  been  some  foul  play  there.  So  help  me  God, 
if  I  thought — but  there,  as  I  told  you,  I'm  not  myself 
to-night.  I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  me." 


312  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Louis  faced  the  position,  not  without  a  craven  fear  at 
his  heart,  although  he  put  a  bold  face  on  it. 

"  Keep  calm,  don't  lose  your  head.  Of  course  I  trav- 
elled over  with  her.  Of  course  we  talked  about  the  deep. 
Who  do  you  think  put  her  up  to  renouncing  her  interest 
in  it?  But  there,  I  never  get  any  gratitude  for  what  I 
do;  and,  as  for  the  woman " 

"  Ah !"  Karl  drew  a  long  breath,  he  was  still  looking 
at  Louis,  and  whatever  he  had  feared,  he  never  feared 
more  than  at  that  moment. 

"  The  woman  was  nothing  but  a " 

The  word  had  not  time  to  pass  his  lips,  it  was  choked 
in  his  throat.  Karl  had  his  big  hand  on  him. 

"You  fool,  you  blasted  fool,  what  are  you  saying?" 

As  once  before,  Louis's  temper  overmastered  Louis's 
reason. 

"  Take  your  hand  off  me,  leave  go  my  throat,"  he 
twisted  himself  free.  "  You  don't  know  anything  about 
women,  how  should  you  ?  I  don't  know  what  has  become 
of  her — on  the  streets,  I  suppose,  women  are  all  alike — 
But  again  there  was  no  time  for  the  word  to  pass.  This 
time  Karl  nearly  strangled  him,  shook  him  like  a  dog, 
the  grey  eyes  were  suffused  with  blood,  and  it  was  blood 
Karl  saw  through  them;  there  was  murder  in  his  heart. 
Louis  put  out  his  hands  to  defend  himself,  wriggled  him- 
self free  again,  had  not  the  sense  in  his  blind  rage  and 
fear  to  keep  his  venemous  mouth  shut. 

"  I  dare  say  you  know  all  about  her ;  she  spoke  of  you 
as  if  you  did — "  His  white  face  was  set  in  malice ;  Karl 
dashed  his  fist  into  it,  a  blow  strengthened  by  the  fury 
of  his  outraged  love  as  well  as  by  his  overmastering  an- 
guish. For  a  second  the  little  woman  was  before  him, 
her  hand  against  his  mouth,  her  cool  cheek  brushing  his 
as  she  stooped  to  him,  the  little  body  he  had  held,  but 
which  had  never  rested  in  his  arms.  A  sob  broke  from 
him,  he  turned  and  fled,  rushed  from  the  room;  it  only 
came  to  him  afterwards  that  under  that  blow  Louis  had 
gone  down  like  a  stone,  only  a  vague  impression  was 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  313 

with  him  as  he  rushed  away,  of  a  prone  figure,  huddled 
and  still. 

It  took  an  hour  or  two  of  hard  walking  before  he  re- 
membered that.  His  rage  and  his  anguish  held  him  fast. 

All  the  quiet  of  the  broad  embankment,  all  the  calm  of 
the  shining  river,  and  the  cold  of  the  wind-blown  March 
night,  were  needed  to  quench  the  hot  fury  that  was  in 
him.  But  the  sky  was  full  of  cold  stars,  and  gradually 
the  cold  cooled  him.  He  walked  rapidly  as  far  as  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  then  his  steps  began  to  linger. 
He  leant  over  the  parapet,  and  gradually  the  flowing 
water  soothed  him.  Into  the  flowing  water  he  looked 
and  saw  visions — not  of  Joan,  he  dared  not,  he  must 
grow  calmer  before  he  dared  to  think  of  the  little  woman 
who  would  have  none  of  him,  who  yet  haunted  him. 

Thirty  odd  years  he  had  cared  for  this  Louis,  nursed 
him  in  his  arms  when  he  was  a  baby,  forgiven  all  his 
boyhood's  faults,  helped  him  through  his  scrapes,  been 
proud  a  little  of  Louis's  weaknesses  in  his  young  man- 
hood, forgiven  him  and  loved  him,  and  looked  after  him. 
Loving  and  caring  for  Louis  was  the  habit  of  a  life-time, 
ineradicable. 

His  hot  sudden  rage  now  fled  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
arisen.  He  began  to  reconsider  what  had  happened,  and, 
seen  in  the  retrospect,  it  appeared  that  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. He  knew  before  he  went  that  Louis  had  married 
his  wife  without  Stephen's  leave,  but  Louis  had  been 
galled  by  the  Hayward  attitude,  perhaps  by  the  word 
"  insolence" ;  Karl  did  not  condemn  him  for  being  galled. 

But  there  was  something  else ;  what  had  the  something 
else  amounted  to?  He  did  not  know  Joan,  could  not 
have  known  her,  save  on  that  short  voyage;  and  now 
he  was  ignorant  even  of  her  whereabouts.  A  fortnight 
Karl  had  been  in  England,  he  too  was  ignorant  of  her 
whereabouts.  He  had  written  to  the  address  Van  Biene 
had  given  him,  but  he  had  had  no  answer.  He  had  al- 
lowed himself  to  fly  into  a  rage  because  Louis  had  spoken 
lightly ;  but  what  could  Louis  know  ?  He  had  been  mar- 


814  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

ried,  he  had  been  out  with  Mm  in  Cape  Town.  The  boy 
was  always  quick  tempered ;  he  had  met  him,  Karl,  with 
affection,  and  how  had  he  responded?  Only  with  fault- 
finding, with  reproaches. 

Quickly  he  had  come  away  from  the  hotel;  slowly, 
very  slowly  he  retraced  his  footsteps. 

As  he  went  he  remembered  little  things  about  Louis, 
|  absurd  little  things.  One  day,  twenty-six  years  ago,  he 
had  pushed  half  a  bun  into  Karl's  mouth,  tried  to  push  it 
in  with  both  his  little  fists.  "  Bun  for  Karl,"  he  had  said  ; 
Karl  had  a  lump  in  his  throat  even  now  when  he  recalled 
it.  He  had  been  hungry,  half  starved,  for  a  year  after 
his  mother's  death  Karl  had  been  half-starved  that  Louis 
should  be  well  fed,  but  Louis  had  pushed  the  bun  into 
his  mouth  that  day,  and  he  had  choked  over  it  with  grati- 
tude and  love  for  the  beautiful  little  fellow  who  had  had 
all  he  wanted  of  his  dry  cake,  but  who,  Karl  thought, 
had  read  his  hunger.  Louis  was  eight  years  old  before 
Karl  left  England  for  the  first  time.  All  these  eight  years 
he  had  shared  Karl's  bed,  now  under  a  counter,  now  in 
a  common  lodging-house.  Karl  had  been  years,  literally 
years,  in  South  Africa,  before  he  had  forgotten  the  feel 
of  that  little  downy  head  against  his  arm,  before  he  could 
rid  himself  of  the  habit  of  expecting  a  good-night  kiss, 
and  listening  for  the  tired  murmuring  of  the  baby  he  had 
promised  to  look  after. 

"  I  promised  I'd  look  after  the  kid,"  he  said  to  himself 
forlornly,  as  slowly  he  walked  back  to  his  hotel.  "  What 
a  mess  I've  made  of  everything.  I've  had  the  bringing 
up  of  him,  nobody  ever  interfered  with  me.  God !  how 
'fond  he  was  of  me  when  he  was  a  little  chap.  It  was 
'  Karl'  here,  and  '  Karl'  there,  all  over  the  place,  until  I 
cleared  out  in  a  hurry  and  left  him  behind.  He'd  have 
done  anything  for  me.  That  was  the  beginning  of  it, 
leaving  him  behind.  I  wish  now  I'd  never  let  him  out  of 
my  sight.  I  expect  if  I'd  been  his  real  brother  things 
would  have  been  different  between  us,  and  I  never  even 
made  him  a  partner " 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  315 

Nobody  in  the  sitting-room,  darkness,  and  nobody  to 
be  seen.  He  rang,  and  the  waiter  went  to  inquire  the 
number  of  Mr.  Althaus's  bedroom,  to  tell  him  his  brother 
wanted  to  see  him.  He  must  hear  if  Louis  was  all  right, 
if  he  had  injured  Louis,  before  he  went  home.  The 
electric  light  was  turned  up,  and  Karl  waited — five  min- 
utes— ten — waited  until  impatiently  he  rang  the  bell 
again,  and  again  sent  up  a  message. 

:'  The  gentleman  is  very  ill,  and  can't  see  no  one,  and 
there's  no  message." 

He  scribbled  a  line  on  a  card.  "  Give  that  to  Mrs. 
Althaus."  He  must  know  that  Louis  was  all  right,  that 
he  had  not  hurt  him,  at  least  not  materially. 

Aline  came  down  in  her  elaborate  white  bed-gown,  her 
hair  hanging  in  two  plaits,  fair,  very  fair,  with  blue  wan- 
dering eyes,  and  lips  loosely  hung. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me.  I  came  directly  they  brought 
me  your  card.  I  had  gone  to  bed." 

"  Louis,  how  is  Louis,  tell  me  ?" 

"  He  has  a  doctor,  and  Susan  is  nursing  him.  Some 
one  knocked  him  down.  I  heard  the  doctor  say  he  would 
have  a  fine  pair  of  black  eyes  in  the  morning.  What  has 
he  been  doing?"  She  asked  as  a  child  might  have  done, 
coming  close  to  Karl.  He  took  her  hand. 

"  Never  you  mind,  dear,  you  just  go  up  to  him  and  tell 
him  I  want  to  see  him.  Tell  him  his  brother  can't  sleep 
until  he  has  seen  him;  remind  him  we've  never  gone  to 
bed  ill  friends  yet." 

But  Louis  never  faced  a  situation.  He  would  not  see 
his  brother  that  night. 

And,  before  the  next  day  had  grown  warm  in  its  sun- 
shine, Louis  and  Aline  had  left  London. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 


THE  next  morning  Karl,  coming  down  to  breakfast, 
heavy-hearted,  heavy-headed,  for  it  had  needed  a  great 
deal  of  whisky  to  wash  out  the  remembrance  of  what  had 
happened  between  him  and  Louis,  found  on  his  plate  the 
letter  he  had  sent  Joan  de  Groot,  returned  by  the  post- 
office  "  not  known."  "  Not  known"  at  the  address  Van 
Biene  had  given  him ! 

It  startled  him,  his  hand  shook  over  it.  I'm  over- 
doing that  whisky,"  he  muttered,  for  his  mouth  was  dry, 
and  his  stomach  rose  at  his  breakfast,  and  his  thoughts 
were  incoherent.  Where  was  she?  Where  on  earth  was 
she?  What  was  the  mystery  or  secret?  What  had  Van 
Biene  meant  about  the  Geldenrief,  by  connecting  Joan 
and  Louis  and  the  Geldenrief?  What  the  devil  did  it 
all  mean?  He  must  pull  himself  together,  he  must  find 
out. 

There  was  no  doubt  he  must  find  out,  get  face  to  face 
with  what  was  puzzling  and  worrying  him.  Louis  would 
tell  him  nothing,  perhaps  Louis  could  tell  him  nothing, 
anyway  he  had  cut  himself  off  from  that  source  of  infor- 
mation. He  could  not  get  Louis  out  of  his  head ;  remorse 
and  clamorous  doubts  fought  for  mastery. 

The  coffee  was  filthy,  the  food  seemed  to  stink :  "  Bring 
me  a  bottle  of  Clicquot  '84  and  a  soda-water  tumbler," 
was  his  order.  He  knew  how  to  pull  himself  together, 
and  he  must  pull  himself  together.  He  was  maddening 
himself  with  what  he  suspected,  and  he  knew — nothing. 
Karl  couldn't  stand  it. 

When  the  champagne  had  done  its  work,  he  faced  the 
situation.  He  must  find  Joan — the  situation  concentrated 
itself  in  that,  he  must  find  the  little  woman.  When  he 
316 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  317 

had  decided  this,  his  head  grew  lighter  and  his  brain 
clearer.  It  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  find  a  woman  in 
London.  He  must  take  up  the  clue  where  it  was  dropped. 

The  champagne  disposed  of,  the  kidneys  and  bacon 
ignored,  his  head  clear,  he  flung  himself  into  a  hansom, 
his  impatience,  his  desire  for  action,  would  not  let  him 
wait  for  the  brougham.  He  drove  down  to  Bushey,  to 
the  cottage,  which  had  been  creeper-covered,  woodbine- 
welcoming,  with  casement  windows,  tree  encircled,  where 
Louis  and  Joan  had  lived  and  parted.  It  was  forlorn 
enough  in  January ;  the  creeper  was  brown  in  its 
branches,  showing  damp-stained  wall,  the  trees  were  bare 
against  the  winter  sky,  the  windows,  closed  against  the 
weather,  were  small  and  light-obscuring. 

It  needed  some  skill  in  eliciting  information,  some  tact 
and  self-control  to  gather  from  the  garrulous  landlady 
that  at  the  date  Karl  mentioned  she  had  had  a  lady  staying 
with  her.  It  needed  some  exercise  of  credulity  for  Karl 
to  believe  that  Joan  was  using  a  name  neither  her  own 
nor  her  husband's.  On  the  verge  of  the  mystery  he  shut 
his  ears  to  it.  He  could  not — the  man  was  suffering  in- 
tensely— he  could  not  push  his  inquiries  to  learn  who 
visited  her,  what  manner  of  man  it  was  who  came  and 
went,  and  of  whom  the  landlady  spoke  with  such  gar- 
rulous anger.  Who  visited  the  lady?  Who  were  her 
friends  ?  What  was  her  occupation  ?  He  took  hope  when 
he  heard  that  she  had  no  occupation,  that  she  was  not  a 
lady  with  a  pen  in  her  hand,  covering  reams  of  paper, 
phrase-making,  and  revelling  in  ink.  He  took  hope; 
he  might  be  on  the  wrong  scent.  She  wrote  to  Van 
Biene  from  here,  but  she  may  not  have  been  here  never- 
theless. 

"  Did  she,  did  this  lady  go  nowhere,  see  nobody,  do 
nothing  ?" 

"  Nobody,  nor  nothing,  sir ;  leastways — "  He  did  not 
question  her  as  Louis  had  done,  so  she  told  him  the  little 
that  she  knew.  The  visit  to  the  lawyer  then  came  out, 
and  hope  grew  obscured  again;  it  was  a  lawyer  who 


318  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

must  have  drawn  up  that  paper  she  sent  to  Van  Biene. 
His  next  visit  was  to  Mr.  Frere. 

The  lawyer  did  not  keep  his  guest  waiting,  the  card 
was  an  open  sesame.  Karl's  name  was  not  strange  to 
Mr.  Frere,  nor  to  any  Londoner.  What  the  millionaire 
wanted  with  him  he  could  not  guess,  but  he  did  not  keep 
him  waiting.  An  old  man,  Karl's  sharp  glance  took  in 
an  old  man,  rheumy-eyed,  a  gentleman  though,  with  thin 
hands  and  prim,  loose  clothes.  Karl  went  straight  to  the 
point  with  him. 

"  About  six  months  ago  you  drew  up  a  paper  for  a 
lady,  who  forwarded  it  to  Mr.  Van  Biene,  a  lawyer  in 
Cape  Town." 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  Mr.  Frere's  attention,  his 
interest,  were  riveted  immediately.  He  had  thought  of 
his  strange  client  more  than  once. 

"You  remember  her?" 

"  Perfectly,  perfectly.  She  sat  where  you  are  sitting 
now,  stood  at  first  though,  until  I  made  her  sit  down, 
poor  thing !" 

"  Why  '  poor  thing'  ?  What  was  the  matter  with  her  ? 
What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"  May  I  ask,  are  you  a  relation  of  hers  ?" 

"  Oh,  go  on,  man — don't  stay  to  ask  questions,  answer 
them.  Why  do  you  call  her  '  poor  thing'  ?" 

"  She  was  in  great  distress ;  it  was  obvious  she  was 
suffering.  She  was  keeping  back  some  story,  some  dis- 
graceful story,"  he  said  reflectively,  seating  himself,  mo- 
tioning his  visitor  to  a  chair.  But  Karl  could  not  sit 
down. 

"  Tell  me  all  you  know.  For  God's  sake,  don't  beat 
about  the  bush." 

"  I  must  know  by  what  right  you  ask,  what  right  you 
would  have  had  to  her  confidence?"  asked  the  other,  fum- 
bling among  his  papers,  adjusting  his  glasses,  looking  at 
Karl  inquiringly. 

"  Oh,  damn  you  lawyers  and  your  caution.  Can't  you 
see  I  don't  want  to  do  her  any  harm.  Good  God,  man, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  319 

show  a  little  humanity.  Why  do  you  call  her  '  poor 
thing'  ?  In  hell's  name,  what  was  wrong  with  her  ?  Who 
— but  no !  Go  on." 

Mr.  Frere  looked  away  from  Karl.  He  had  seen  Joan 
had  been  suffering  that  day ;  it  was  not  less  easy  for  him 
to  note  Karl's  anxiety,  his  restlessness,  the  high  note  in 
his  voice.  He  beat  on  the  table  with  his  fist. 

"  I  want  to  know  where  she  is  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can  answer  you  that  at  once.  I  do  not  know. 
Since  that  day  she  came  to  me  with  the  paper  you  speak 
of  I  have  never  seen  her." 

Karl  gave  an  impatient  sound,  took  a  restless  turn  about 
the  room,  his  voice  was  rough  when  he  spoke  again,  the 
high  note  had  gone  out  of  it,  it  was  rough  and  hoarse, 
not  loud. 

"  What  trouble  was  she  in  ?"  he  said. 

"  She  was  about  to  become  the  mother  of  an  illegiti- 
mate child."  Karl  was  almost  incoherent  with  what  rose 
in  his  throat. 

"  Impossible !  I  tell  you  it  is  impossible."  The  hoarse 
voice  rose,  "  It's  a  damned  lie."  Mr.  Frere  could  not 
resent  the  words,  there  was  a  sob  in  the  voice  that  spoke 
them,  an  entreaty  for  denial. 

"  She  told  me  so  herself.  '  The  child  must  be  honest,' 
she  said.  '  I'll  keep  nothing,  not  even  a  name  that  doesn't 
belong  to  him.  Get  rid  of  the  estate,  I  cannot  look  upon 
my  baby's  face  until  I  have  cleansed  myself  from  it,  from 
the  lie  the  inheritance  of  it  means.'  Those  were  her  words. 
'  I  tried  to  persuade  her,  but  she  was  very  much  in  earnest, 
very  unhappy.  So  I  wrote  the  paper  for  her." 

Karl  looked  at  the  old  lawyer. 

"  She  was  terribly  in  earnest  over  it,"  Mr.  Frere  said, 
still  fumbling  among  the  papers,  still  avoiding  Karl's  eyes. 

Karl  fell  into  a  chair  then,  heavily,  his  head  went  down 
upon  his  arms ;  for  the  moment  he  could  not  confront  the 
daylight  in  the  room.  There  rose  before  him  again  the 
dear  little  face,  the  wavy  brown  hair,  the  blue  eyes  that 
brimmed  with  fun,  the  mobile  lips ;  the  dimples — and  the 


320  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

little  svelte  figure — and  the  little  white  hands — and  the 
brightness  and  the  charm  of  her.  A  sob  shook  him ;  he 
forgot  to  be  ashamed.  Presently,  abruptly,  he  raised  his 
head. 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  illegitimate,  man !  How  do 
you  know  that?" 

"  Her  husband  was  only  just  dead,  she  told  me,"  the 
lawyer  answered  drily.  Karl  hid  his  bloodshot  eyes  again, 
but  not  for  long;  soon  he  pulled  himself  together,  soon 
he  began  again  his  restless  walk. 

"  I  must  find  her,  I  must  get  to  the  bottom  of  it,"  he 
was  speaking  to  himself. 

"  The  man " 

Karl  turned  on  him  fiercely. 

"  What  man  ?  There  is  no  man  I  tell  you,  there's  some 
damnable,  hideous  blunder  somewhere.  But  what  am  I 
staying  here  talking  for?"  He  shook  himself  free  from 
the  thing  that  had  fastened  on  him,  the  fear.  "  I  must 
get  to  the  bottom  of  it ;"  adding,  under  his  breath,  "  My 
little  Joan !"  Then,  "  You're  a  lawyer,  you  were  kind  to 
her — were  you  kind  to  her?" 

"  I  think  so,  I  tried  to  be." 

In  the  end  the  old  man  fetched  his  overcoat  and  his 
goloshes.  He  lived  carefully  and  guarded  himself,  but  he 
went  out  with  Karl  in  the  cold  to  search  for  her ;  for  to 
every  one  Joan  made  appeal,  and  he  had  not  forgotten  her 
piteous  blue  eyes,  her  poor  eloquent  figure. 

Six  months  since  she  had  last  been  heard  of!  Who 
could  help  them  in  the  search  ? 

Six  months  ago  the  gate  of  the  cottage  had  closed 
behind  Louis,  and  she  had  heard  the  wheels  of  his 
brougham  roll  luxuriously  away,  as  she  lay  on  the  sofa 
all  numbed  and  quiet,  though  there  was  a  singing  in 
her  ears  and  a  great  sickness  upon  her.  For  she  saw  to 
what  she  had  given  herself,  and  realised  him,  and  prayed 
for  death.  Numb  she  lay  on  the  sofa  and  prayed  for 
death.  But  the  infant  stirred  in  her  womb,  and  she  knew 
it  was  life  and  not  death  she  carried  about  with  her. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

And  she  loathed  the  child  she  bore  within  her  for  one 
instant,  one  shuddering  terrible  instant  that  brought  her 
face  to  face  with  abysmal  horror.  But  in  the  recoil  she 
grew  strong,  and  clearer  in  her  mind,  and  saw  her  duty, 
and  knew  that  she  was  nerved  to  it. 

That  she  was  a  burden  and  disappointment  to  Louis, 
that  he  wished  never  to  look  upon  her  face  again,  that 
the  child  which  was  coming  to  them  both  must  come  to 
her  alone,  were  not  words  only,  they  were  facts  to  face. 
And  she  was  brave,  a  very  brave  little  woman,  when  she 
was  well;  the  weakness  of  her  womanhood  was  upon 
her,  but  her  spirit  gathered  itself  together,  and  she  was 
brave  still.  She  could  not  debase  herself  further,  the 
coming  child  made  it  impossible;  she  could  pass  out  of 
his  life.  That  was  clear  to  her,  comparatively  easy;  the 
rest  must  wait,  must  take  its  chance.  Each  step  was  a 
step  in  the  dark,  and  the  first  one  must  be  made  with  her 
eyes  shut. 

She  did  not  let  the  night  go  down  upon  her  determina- 
tion. She  ate  her  solitary  dinner,  made  herself  eat,  there 
was  work  to  be  done  before  she  dared  sleep  again,  and 
strength  she  must  have  or  she  could  not  act.  The  land- 
lady, who  was  summoned  to  her,  was  sympathetic.  After 
all,  if  she  was  to  lose  her  lodger,  there  could  not  be  a 
better  time  than  May,  the  season  was  in  full  swing,  the 
backwash  of  it  might  land  another  even  more  desirable, 
and  a  little  more  chatty,  into  Bushey  Cottage.  She  did 
not  ask  any  questions  about  her  lodger  or  her  "  hus- 
band's" strange  ways  or  erratic  comings  and  goings.  She 
had  kept  a  furnished  house  too  many  years  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood to  be  inquisitive.  So  she  heard  without  com- 
ment that  Mr.  Grey  had  been  suddenly  called  abroad, 
and  that  Mrs.  Grey  proposed  joining  him  at  Southampton. 
She  helped  poor  Joan  to  pack  up ;  they  looked  up  a  train. 
Joan  gave  the  requisite  touches  to  the  story  with  realism, 
the  trunks  were  labelled  Southampton,  the  cab  was 
directed  to  Waterloo. 

That  she  changed  her  mind  before  she  had  turned  out 

21 


322  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

of  Baker  Street  was  nothing  to  the  imperturbable  cabby ; 
ladies  were  most  always  changing  their  minds,  he  thought. 

"  Drive  to  Islington,"  she  said. 

"  Any  perticklar  part  of  Islington,  ma'am  ?" 

Why  Islington  ?  It  was  the  first  name  that  occurred  to 
her.  It  seemed  to  her  quite  the  other  end  of  London,  and 
all  she  wanted  was  to  be  quite  the  other  end  of  London, 
out  of  Louis's  way,  hidden.  But  even  the  cabman  was  a 
force  to  be  reckoned  with;  his  curiosity,  it  seemed  like 
curiosity,  must  be  satisfied.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  she 
could  not  remember  a  single  street  in  Islington,  and  she 
did  not  even  know  if  Islington  had  streets ;  perhaps  there 
were  only  squares  there,  or  terraces.  The  man,  not  get- 
ting a  reply,  drew  the  cab  up  to  the  curb  and  lumbered 
down  from  the  box. 

"  I  beg  yer  pardon,  ma'am,  but  I  didn't  hear  wot  you 
said,  wot  part  of  Islington  wos  you  for?" 

"  I  can't  go  on  to  Southampton  to-day.  I  will  go  into 
lodgings;  drive  me  where  I  can  get  lodgings,"  she 
answered  faintly. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  back  where  you  came  from  ?" 
he  asked,  being  a  family  man  himself. 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  As  far  as  possible,  I  must — I  must  get 
to  Islington." 

"  Well,  it  ain't  very  near  Waterloo,"  he  commented,  as 
he  climbed  into  his  seat  again.  "  S'pose  she's  'ad  a  row 
with  the  landlady;  looks  rum  though." 

She  roused  herself,  when,  after  an  apparently  inter- 
minable time  of  noise  and  jolting,  he  pulled  up  again. 

"  This  yere's  the  Kingsland  Road ;  there's  a  bill  in 
most  of  the  winders,  if  so  be  it  isn't  any  perticklar  apart- 
ments you  wos  looking  for." 

So  ignorant,  so  inexperienced  was  the  poor  little 
woman,  that  she  took  the  first  apartments  they  stopped  at, 
paid  the  cabman  all  he  asked,  and  felt  grateful  to  him 
for  helping  to  carry  the  luggage  upstairs.  It  was  a  slat- 
ternly woman,  poor  Joan's  new  landlady.  All  that  lug- 
gage! A  week's  rent  in  advance,  a  ready  agreement  to 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  323 

give  what  was  asked ;  she  didn't  want  a  reference,  not 
she,  though  she  mentioned  it  as  a  point  in  her  favour, 
more  than  once,  not  only  now,  but  later.  Joan  gave  her 
name  as  Mrs.  de  Groot;  she  was  glad  to  get  into  the 
dingy  rooms.  The  bedroom,  first  floor  back,  looked  onto 
a  mews,  the  drawing-room,  first  floor  front,  faced  the 
tram-lines.  But,  notwithstanding  dirt  and  noise,  she  was 
thankful  to  be  there,  she  felt  less  degraded  than  she  had 
felt  for  months  ;  she  breathed  more  freely. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  time  very  easy  to  imagine, 
very  difficult  to  endure.  The  dismal  houses  in  that  long 
Islington  street,  each  one  a  copy  of  its  neighbour,  here 
and  there  one  conspicuously  dingy,  here  and  there  one  con- 
spicuously cleaner,  and  yet  grimy  and  poverty-haunted, 
grew  slowly  into  her  consciousness.  It  was  all  part  of 
her  terrible  loneliness.  One  day  she  remembered  why 
she,  ignorant  of  London,  had  said  "  Islington"  haphazard 
to  the  cabman.  It  was  Karl  who  had  told  her  of  Isling- 
ton. Somewhere  near  there  his  mother  was  buried.  She 
remembered  he  had  told  her  of  the  funeral,  of  the  Hebrew 
prayers.  Impelled  by  some  strange  curiosity,  she  asked 
where  was  the  Jewish  cemetery ;  she  dragged  herself  to 
Ball's  Pond  Road,  spent  an  absorbing  half-hour  seeking 
for  an  insignificant  grave  in  that  dreary  little  God's  acre, 
and  was  questioned  at  last  by  the  inquisitive  little  Hebrew 
who  had  been  watching  her. 

"  Grave  of  a  Mrs.  Althaus  ?  Lord  bless  yer,  yes ;  yer 
couldn't  miss  it.  There  it  is,  monument  put  up  by  her 
son,  twenty  years  after  they  had  both  been  dead  and 
buried  and  forgot.  Related  to  the  family?" 

The  fountain  of  Joan's  tears  had  dried  up,  but  her  eyes 
smarted  when  she  saw  the  marble  Karl  had  erected.  So 
much  care  he  had  for  the  dead,  so  little  his  brother  had 
for  the  living.  It  added  something  to  her  loneliness  to  see 
the  magnificent  tribute,  "  To  the  memory  of  Karl  Alt- 
haus and  Johanna  his  wife.  'Happy  he  with  such  a 
Mother!  Faith  in  womankind  beats  with  his  blood,  trust 
in  all  things  high  co'mes  easy  to  him.' "  The  rest  of  the 


324  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

inscription  was  in  some  strange  lettering  that  she  could 
not  read.  She  remembered  Karl  had  asked  her  once  what 
they  had  written  upon  her  mother's  gravestone,  and  she 
had  told  him  that  "  With  Christ,  which  is  far  better,"  was 
inserted  on  the  simple  cross  in  that  Devonshire  church- 
yard, where  father  and  mother  lay  in  one  common  grave. 
Karl  had  walked  about  the  room,  repeating  the  simple 
words  to  himself. 

"  Beautiful,"  he  said,  "  beautiful !  I  don't  believe  a 
word  about  it,  but  it's  beautiful  all  the  same.  And  you 
feel  they  are  up  there,  in  Heaven,  with  Christ?  God 
knows  where  my  poor  old  mother  is.  I  put  up  a  stone 
to  her  two  years  ago;  the  man  who  writes  me  pros- 
pectuses found  me  the  words  for  it,  they  weren't  true  as 
far  as  I'm  concerned,  but  I  think  she'd  have  liked  'em. 
Somehow  or  other  they've  had  more  meaning  since  I've 
met  you,  little  Joan." 

That  is  what  Karl  had  said  to  her  a  few  short  months 
ago. 

All  that  evening  she  cried,  cried  herself  sick,  in  the 
miserable  Islington  lodging.  The  slatternly  landlady, 
when  she  brought  up  the  badly-cooked  dinner,  remon- 
strated with  her. 

"  It  ain't  good  for  you  and  it  ain't  good  for  'im  that's 
comin'.  We've  all  got  our  troubles " 

"  You're  very  kind." 

"  Nothin'  to  speak  of,"  which  was  true,  "  but  I'm  sorry 
for  a  young  critter  like  you.  I  don't  ask  no  questions, 
but  if  your  'usband's  left  you,  why,  it's  better  than  'avin' 
one  as  knocks  you  about.  An'  if  you  'av'nt  got  a  'usband, 
why,  all  the  freer  for  you  when  you've  got  over  your 
trouble.  So  long  as  you've  got  plenty  of  money,  wot  do 
it  matter  about  the  man?  I  s'pose  you've  got  plenty  of 
money  to  see  yer  through  ?" 

The  inquisitiveness  of  the  lower  orders  is  extraor- 
dinary. Joan's  tears  dried  up.  The  landlady  was  in  a 
friendly  mood. 

"  'Ere,  draw  up  yer  chair  an'  eat  it  while  it's  'ot."    It 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  325 

was  very  unappetising — a  bit  of  mutton  without  gravy, 
served  on  a  tablecloth  that  showed  marks  of  the  coffee 
the  wretched  maid-of-all-work  had  spilled  over  it  in  the 
morning,  flanked  by  a  dish  of  potatoes  and  greens  under 
one  broken  cover. 

"  I  didn't  cover  up  the  meat,  thinkin'  you'd  set  on  to  it 
at  once.  I  'av'n't  ast  you  before,  but  I  s'pose  you've  got 
everythink  ready ;  you  don't  expect  me  to  look  after  yer, 
for  that  I  wouldn't  undertake.  An'  'ow  long  will  it  be 
before,  if  I  may  ask?" 

"  I — I — don't  know."  Joan  flushed  crimson.  The  land- 
lady was  impertinent,  intrusive,  slatternly,  but — she  was 
a  woman. 

Before  the  evening  meal  was  over,  before  the  landlady 
had  shuffled  off  in  her  heelless  slippers,  Joan  had  remem- 
bered with  a  pang  of  dismay  that  it  would  be  some  time 
yet  before  her  troubles  would  reach  their  climax,  that 
she  had  forgotten  to  think  of,  or  to  provide  for,  nurse  and 
doctor  and  clothes,  that  all  her  experiences  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  making  her  practical.  She  had  reckoned  to 
meet  the  immediate  future  with  what  she  had  in  her 
purse.  After  that — could  there  be  an  after  that?  she 
wondered  miserably — there  was  her  pen.  But  now  she 
learnt  she  could  not  wait  to  provide  for  her  needs  until 
that  afterwards. 

It  was  not  entirely  Louis's  fault ;  she  had  been  proud, 
had  paid  her  own  bills.  He  had  laughed  and  told  her  to 
come  to  him  when  her  store  was  exhausted,  the  last 
moiety  of  her  allowance  from  De  Groot,  the  last  instal- 
ment she  had  had  from  her  publishers.  Perhaps  he  had 
had  an  exaggerated  consideration  for  her  susceptibilities ; 
but  she  had  kept  that  little  stock  of  pride  to  draw  on,  and 
he  had  been  sensitive  to  her  wishes  in  this  matter.  He 
had  not  had  time  to  teach  her  that  she  could  freely  take ; 
he  had  been  occupied  in  proving  to  her  that  she  must 
freely  give.  And  his  attitude  had  given  her  pleasure. 
But  now 

Before  she  went  to  bed  that  night  she  wrote  a  few 


326  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

lines  to  her  publishers,  and  went  out  by  herself  to  post  it. 
It  was  Saturday  night  in  Islington  Causeway.  She  was 
conscious  of  endless  traffic,  and  the  iron  rails  of  tram- 
cars,  costermongers  bawling  their  goods  under  the  wild 
flare  of  naptha  lamps,  noise,  and  the  brushing  against 
her  of  common  women  and  men  with  evil-smelling  pipes. 
There  was  a  public-house  at  the  corner,  a  horrible  efflu- 
vium was  wafted  to  her  at  the  red  letter-box;  this  was 
the  world  in  which  she  found  herself,  the  cul  de  sac  to 
her  vista  of  Paradise.  She  shuddered  all  the  way  back 
to  the  lodging-house,  and  found  herself  still  trembling 
when  she  got  up  to  her  rooms. 

It  was  difficult  for  her  to  think,  but  it  seemed  to  her 
that  all  the  suffering  in  the  world  was  borne  by  women. 
She  had  met  them  bruised  and  battered,  in  drunken  mis- 
ery, reeling;  to-night  her  own  burden  was  well-nigh 
tmbearable. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 


IT  was  the  publisher  to  whom  Joan  had  written  who 
gave  Karl  the  clue  for  which  he  had  been  two  days  search- 
ing. Mr.  Frere  had  done  his  best,  but  his  best  was  police 
stations  and  hospitals,  infirmaries,  and  charity  organisa- 
tions, a  horrible  best.  "  Her  publishers  may  know,  the 
publishers  of  '  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper' "  was  his  last 
hopeless  suggestion,  and,  as  it  happened,  it  was  the  one 
that  put  the  thread  into  their  hands. 

Karl  had  met  many  types  of  men  in  his  time,  men  of 
divers  business  pursuits  and  modes  of  life — Barabbases 
of  all  shades  and  opinions — but  a  publisher  was  new  to 
him.  And  the  gentleman  who  had  made  half  a  fortune 
over  "  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper"  was,  unfortunately,  not 
a  fair  representative  of  his  class.  The  front  room  on  the 
ground  floor,  where  Karl  kicked  his  heels  in  impatient 
waiting,  was  dirty  and  untenanted,  the  window  decorated 
with  fly-blown  periodicals;  behind  the  counter  was  a 
shabby  boy,  cadaverous,  a  very  Smike  among  clerks,  who 
promised  dubiously  to  inquire  if  Mr.  Jones  could  see  Mr. 
Althaus.  Mr.  Jones  hardly  saw  any  one,  and  Mr.  Francis 
Jones  was  out.  He  went  away  doubtfully  and  slowly; 
but  his  doubt  was  turned  to  awe  and  respect  by  the  time 
of  his  rapid  return,  for  now  it  had  got  into  his  dull  head 
that  the  visitor  was  the  South  African  millionaire,  and 
there  seem  no  wits  so  dull  that  the  glitter  of  millions 
cannot  brighten  them. 

"  This  way,  sir ;  Mr.  Jones  will  see  you  at  once,"  said 
the  boy. 

Karl  followed  him  up  the  narrow,  dirty,  wooden  stair- 
case, to  the  office,  murky  from  the  uncleaned  windows, 
where,  like  Dickens's  "  dirty  old  man  in  a  dirty  old  house," 

327 


328  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

the  wizened  old  scoundrel  sat  laying  snares  for  young 
authors. 

With  Karl  he  put  on  the  airs  of  a  literary  man.  He 
hoped  he  had  brought  him  a  book  on  South  Africa,  which 
he  was  anxious  to  publish  at  his  own  expense ;  but  when 
he  knew  the  real  object  of  Karl's  visit  he  grew  insolent. 

"  The  authoress  of  '  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper/  oh, 
yes !  I  know  her  address  well  enough.  She  wrote  me  two 
or  three  weeks  ago,  or  months,  perhaps,  asking  for  money, 
royalties ;  what  do  you  think  of  that,  sir  ?  I  published  the 
book  at  my  own  expense ;  I  paid  everything,  advertising, 
proof  corrections,  everything.  Look  at  the  puffs  I  got 
out,  look  at  the  criticisms.  Why,  I  made  her  fortune  over 
that  book,  and  now  she  has  written  me  for  the  royalties 
that  were  due  to  her.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like 
that?" 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  sent  her  what  she  asked  you !" 

The  publisher  barked  at  him,  showed  his  yellow  fangs, 
and  barked  almost  in  the  extremity  of  his  indignation  at 
being  asked  for  money. 

"  Royalties !  why,  the  woman  is  in  my  debt.  The  book 
never  paid  the  expenses,  books  never  do." 

It  cost  Karl  an  immense  amount  of  self-control  to  sit 
still  and  listen  whilst  Mr.  Jones  explained  the  half-profit 
system,  and  why  a  book  that  had  run  through  six  editions 
in  four  months  had  become  a  loss.  But  when  he  realised 
the  miserable  scoundrel  he  had  to  deal  with,  he  dealt  with 
him  as  he  had  dealt  with  scoundrels  all  his  life.  He  was 
within  reach  of  Joan  now — she  was  alive,  in  communica- 
tion with  the  publishers ;  he  could  afford  to  delay  a  short 
time  with  the  information,  to  investigate  how  she  was 
being  cheated,  to  take  at  least  one  of  her  affairs  into  his 
strong  hands.  He  let  the  publisher  tell  his  own  story, 
give  his  own  figures  of  expenses  of  publishing  and  adver- 
tising: Karl  was  in  his  element  with  figures.  Then  he 
asked  abruptly: 

"  So  you  would  not  bring  out  another  book  by  Mrs.  de 
Groot;  you  would  not  take  the  risk?" 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  329 

The  keen  little  eyes  twinkled  as  Mr.  Jones  admitted 
that  he  was  prepared  to  take  the  risk,  as  he  explained  how 
much  less  advertisement  would  be  necessary.  He  even 
offered  twenty-five  pounds  for  the  copyright.  Karl 
undertook  to  open  negotiations  for  him  on  this  basis ;  he 
was  completely  self -controlled,  and  secured  the  address 
that  he  might  discuss  the  subject  with  Mrs.  de  Groot 
Then  he  rose  to  go,  but  not  without  showing  his  gratitude 
to  Mr.  Jones,  who  asked  him  about  the  mining  market, 
by  giving  him  the  "  tip"  he  angled  for.  Having  given  it, 
and  being  prepared  to  go,  he  came  back  to  impress  its 
value  upon  Joan's  publisher.  "  They  must  go  up,"  he 
said ;  "  don't  buy  a  few  shares,  and  be  satisfied  to  make  a 
thousand  or  two.  A  man  at  your  time  of  life  ought  to 
put  himself  outside  the  necessity  of  work.  Put  the  pot 
on,  go  for  the  gloves.  It's  not  one  of  those  things  there 
is  any  doubt  about." 

It  was  not ;  Karl  knew  that.  He  went  away  with  the 
satisfaction  of  feeling  that  the  man  who  had  cheated  Joan 
was  in  the  fair  way  of  receiving  punishment  for  it;  he 
knew  quite  well  the  market  prospects  of  Chartered  <*t 
eight!  The  man  ought  to  have  been  kicked,  but  Karl 
thought  he  had  done  better  than  kicking  him.  He  had 
not  a  twinge  of  conscience  about  it,  never  had,  only 
laughed  under  his  breath  when  he  saw  the  name  in  the 
Gazette  seven  months  later. 

The  address  was  in  Islington.  It  was  in  Islington  he 
had  wheeled  that  barrow  of  which  he  had  spoken  to 
•Stephen  Hayward.  He  tried  again  to  remember  what  it 
was  he  had  wheeled  about  Islington,  and  what  sort  of 
neighbourhood  it  was.  He  was  in  his  own  brougham  now, 
and  many  rich  men  would  have  tried  to  forget  the  days 
of  the  barrow.  Not  so  Karl,  he  was  never  ashamed  nor 
sorry  for  the  work  he  had  done.  All  his  doubts  and  fears 
for  Joan  were  chattering  and  chirping  about  him,  were 
loud  and  ear-splitting,  they  had  prevented  him  sleeping 
or  eating  or  resting  these  last  few  days;  but  he  shook 
them  away  with  an  impatient  toss  of  his  head  as  he  looked 


330  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

out  of  the  window,  seeing  tram-lines  and  poor  gentility, 
with  tenement  houses,  all  grey  and  dull,  and  big  factories 
and  warehouses,  all  smoky  and  unprosperous.  There  was 
another  figure  he  saw  sometimes  with  Joan's ;  but  that  he 
dashed  away  from  him,  that  he  would  not  contemplate, 
that  he  could  not  bear. 

"  It  was  in  the  summer ;  I  recollect  the  smell  of  the 
tram-lines.  -I  was  wrong  about  winkles,  I  was  never  such 
a  fool  as  to  sell  winkles  in  the  summer;  it  must  have 
been  strawberries." 

A  man  with  a  barrow  was  trying  to  sell  something, 
calling  out  his  wares.  Karl  recalled  the  cry,  and  let  down 
the  window  with  a  bang. 

"  Pull  up.    Can't  you  hear  when  I  speak  ?" 

The  coachman  brought  the  horses  to  a  sudden  standstill, 
and  the  smart  footman  jumped  down.  He  touched  his 
cockaded  hat,  but  his  master's  head  was  half  out  of  the 
window,  and  he  was  shouting  to  a  costermonger : 

"Here,  you,  hi!" 

The  costermonger  looked  across,  and  the  footman  was 
ashamed  for  his  master. 

"  Go  over  there  and  stand  by  that  barrow,  and  look 
after  it.  I  want  to  speak  to  the  man." 

It  was  very  disgusting,  but  Karl  always  knew  how  to 
get  himself  obeyed.  The  smart  footman  minded  the  bar- 
row, to  the  infinite  delight  of  three  or  'four  ragged  urchins 
and  some  slatterns,  and  the  coster  came  over  to  the 
brougham. 

"  What  have  you  made  to-day  ?" 

The  man  didn't  pull  his  cap;  he  was  a  sturdy  coster, 
hoarse  and  direct. 

"  Ninepence,  guv'nor.    At  it  since  four." 

If  he  had  been  a  boy,  it  was  in  Karl  this  moment,  on 
his  way  to  Joan,  to  have  taken  him  from  his  barrow, 
charged  himself  with  his  future,  tried  to  bribe  Provi- 
dence; but  he  smelt  of  drink,  and  was  slouching  and 
disreputable  and  hopeless. 

"Ah!   well,  I  wheeled  a  barrow  once;    here's  a  sov- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  331 

ereign  for  you."  Then  he  put  his  head  in,  and,  before  the 
coster  had  recovered  from  his  astonishment,  the  footman 
was  back  on  the  box,  and  Karl  was  once  more  on  the 
way  to  Joan. 

The  Islington  Road  is  the  longest,  dreariest  street  in 
the  whole  of  London.  The  brougham  pulled  up  at  a  mis- 
erable house,  narrow-gutted,  with  no  curtains,  and  dirt 
enough  on  the  windows  to  make  them  unnecessary.  The 
brougham,  the  footman's  bang  on  the  wretched  knocker, 
quickly  brought  out  a  little  "  marchioness,"  cap  awry, 
draggle-tailed,  smutty.  Karl  was  out  of  the  brougham 
almost  before  it  stopped. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Grey  here  ?" 

The  maid-of -all-work  stared  at  him. 

"  No,  she  ain't.  Nor  never  hasn't  bin ;  don't  know  no 
such  a  name." 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  forgot,  I  meant  Mrs.  de  Groot ;  is  Mrs. 
de  Groot  here?" 

"  Then  why  don't  yer  say  wot  yer  mean."  But  the  little 
slut  was  pushed  aside  by  her  mistress,  gaping  and  curious, 
with  no  collar  on  her  rusty  black  dress,  an  elderly  gar- 
rulous slattern.  "Who  is  it  he's  askin'  for?"  The  girl 
had  only  been  there  a  fortnight ;  the  lodgers  of  yesterday 
were  unknov/n  to  her. 

"  Oh !  Lord  knows.  Sellin'  Bibles  or  sewin'-machines, 
I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  You  get  back  to  your  work." 

.  Karl  raised  his  hat.  "  I  was  inquiring  for  a  Mrs.  de 
Groot."  The  publishers  had  made  no  mention  of  another 
name ;  it  must  be  that  she  had  resumed  her  own. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  de  Groot!  Step  in,  will  you?"  She  led  th? 
way,  and  Karl  followed  her  through  the  narrow  oil- 
clothed  passage,  into  the  reek  of  the  house,  into  the  stuffy 
front  parlour. 

"Is  she  here?" 

"  Not  exactly  here." 

"  Thank  God  for  that,"  was  his  quick  thought.  "  But 
you  know  where  she  is  ?"  were  his  words. 


332  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Yes !  You  come  in  here,  sir,  an'  I'll  tell  yer  all  about 
it." 

This  noble  gentleman, — Karl,  with  his  carriage  and 
footman,  seemed  a  noble  gentleman  to  the  Islington  lodg- 
ing-housekeeper,— merited  the  greatest  attention.  And 
once  more  Karl  was  patient  whilst  a  flood  of  talk  was 
poured  over  him.  She  stood  in  the  parlour  with  her  arms 
akimbo,  and  told  him  all  about  her  lodger. 

"  Yes,  she  was  'ere  sure  enough,  nigh  on  five  weeks, 
an'  if  I  do  say  it  myself,  I  nursed  'er  like  a  mother,  I  did, 
though  me  'ands  was  full  at  the  time,  an'  I'm  a  widow 
woman  myself,  an'  I  never  ast  no  questions,  not  me. 
P'rhaps,"  inquisitively,  "  the  gentleman  would  know  what 
I  am  alludin'  to,  but  I  never  ast  'er  where  'er  weddin'  ring 
was,  nor  nothin'.  She  was  took  bad  one  night.  I  fetched 
the  doctor  to  'er  myself,  an'  after  he'd  bin  up  talkin'  to 
'er  a  time — I'd  'ave  gone  up  with  'im,  but  you  see  I'd 
9ther  lodgers  in  the  'ouse.  It's  a  'ard  life  mine,  sir,  you 
can  see  that  for  yourself,  with  no  one  to  look  to  but  my- 
self." Here  followed  a  little  biography.  "  Well,  after 
that  man  'ad  bin  with  her  p'rhaps  'alf-an-'our,  the  girl 
fetched  me  'ome — I'd  just  bin  round  to  'ave  a  drop.  I 
don't  believe  in  'avin'  drink  in  the  'ouse  with  gels  about. 
I  don't  know  whether  you  agree  with  me,  sir,  but  that's 
my  plan,  an'  she  always  knows  where  to  find  me.  Well, 
she  brought  me  back,  an'  I  come  in  'ere,  an'  'e  says  to  me, 
the  doctor  says,  '  Mrs.  Maggs,'  says  'e,  for  'e  knows  me, 
'twas  'im  mended  my  leg  when  I  broke  it  come  a  year 
ago  last  Micklemas.  '  Mrs.  Maggs,'  says  'e,  '  you've  bin 
very  kind  an'  attentive  to  Mrs.  de  Groot,  an'  she's  dooly 
grateful ;  but  seein'  she's  so  ill,  and  not  like  to  be  better 
afore  she's  a  sight  worse,  I've  advised  of  'er  to  go  into  a 
nursin'  'ome  round  'ere,  as  I  know  on,  an'  I'm  goin' 
round  to  see  about  it,  an'  I'll  fetch  her  there,  by-an'-by. 
Now,  you  just  go  up  an'  'elp  'er  with  the  packin',  there's 
a  good  woman,  an*  you'll  get  a  week's  rent,  an'  a  week's 
notice,  an'  that's  better  than  'avin'  an  inquidge  in  the 
'ouse,  wich  is  wot's  very  likely  to  'appen.' " 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  333 

"Where  is  the  home?"  asked  Karl  quickly.  "Who 
was  the  doctor?" 

"  I'm  comin'  to  that,  sir,  give  me  time."  There  was  no 
way  out  of  it,  he  had  to  give  her  her  own  time;  she 
rambled  on. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  were  so  attentive  to  her,"  he 
broke  in  as  soon  as  he  was  able,  taking  a  five-pound  note 
out  of  his  pocket.  "  Here,  buy  yourself  something  to 
remember  her  by.  Where's  the  address,  did  you  say?" 
Never  were  five  pounds  less  honestly  earned,  but  he  got 
the  address  no  more  quickly  even  then,  and  mixed  up 
with  it  eventually  were  a  few  details  of  Mrs.  Maggs's 
personal  history,  and  a  wholly  gratuitous  assurance  that 
so  long  as  Maggs  was  alive  he  always  voted  Conservative. 
"  As  true  as  I'm  standin'  'ere,"  she  said,  "  '  workin'  man 
or  no  workin'  man,'  say  'e,  '  I'll  vote  for  the  'Ouse  o' 
Lords.' ': 

Karl  got  away  at  last. 

The  Home  was  a  corner  house,  green  verandahed, 
white  curtained,  spotlessly  clean,  the  little  gravel  path 
that  led  up  to  the  door  was  freshly  rolled,  the  green  grass 
plot  on  either  side  closely  cut,  tended  evergreens  were  in 
the  tiled  window-boxes. 

"  Is  Mrs.  de  Groot  in  ?  Can  I  see  Mrs.  de  Groot  ?" 
The  door  was  not  opened  by  a  parlour-maid,  but  by  a  trim 
hospital  nurse. 

"  Mrs.  de  Groot?  Yes,  sir,  indeed  you  can.  We  were 
only  saying  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  she  had  some 
friends,  some  one  to  rouse  her.  You  know  she  has  been 
very  ill?" 

Karl  did  not  know  what  he  knew,  nor  what  he  feared. 
He  waited  in  the  neat  little  room  with  its  light  wall-paper 
and  portrait  frames,  its  antimacassars  and  green  flower- 
pots, whilst  the  nurse  went  to  prepare  Joan  for  his  visit. 
He  was  hardly  master  of  himself  when  he  followed  her 
upstairs,  he  found  himself  trembling.  He  told  himself  he 
had  only  just  recovered  from  an  illness. 

When  Karl  Althaus  had  last  seen  Joan  she  was  queen- 


334  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

mistress  of  Cape  Town  society,  her  small  head  erect,  her 
bright  eyes  full  of  laughter,  full  of  life  and  intelligence, 
with  a  certain  alertness  and  joy  of  the  world,  giving  an 
impression  of  more  vitality,  more  conscious  pride  of  her 
vitality,  than  any  woman  he  had  ever  met. 

She  was  lying  on  a  sofa  now,  her  eyes  were  quenched 
and  tired,  there  were  crows'-feet  round  them ;  her  mouth 
had  a  pathetic  droop,  her  figure  was  listless. 
1  "  Karl — is  it  Karl  ?"  she  said.  She  was  so  weak,  past 
surprise  or  shock.  Submerged  in  suffering,  she  had 
hardly  come  to  the  surface,  to  the  knowledge  she  was 
still  alive;  it  was  the  mere  remnant  of  a  woman  Karl 
saw  before  him,  but  he  knelt  before  her,  knelt  down  by 
the  sofa,  put  his  broad  hands  over  those  white  skeleton 
ones  of  her's,  and  stayed  there  a  minute,  wordless,  with 
bowed  head,  with  his  big  shoulders  shaken,  with  his  eyes 
too  dim  to  see,  with  his  voice  past  control. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  why  didn't  you  send  for  me, 
Joan,  little  Joan?"  were  the  first  words  he  got  out,  and 
they  sounded  like  a  sob  too. 

"  I'm  better  now ;  don't  cry,  Karl,  don't  cry."  She 
drew  one  weak  hand  away  and  laid  it  on  his  head,  on  that 
grey,  thick  thatch  of  his.  "  How  thick  your  hair  is ;  they 
cut  mine  off  when  I  was  ill." 

He  got  to  his  feet  in  a  moment  or  two ;  the  frailty,  the 
timbre  of  her  voice,  so  weak  and  altered,  warned  him  that 
his  own  emotion  must  be  controlled.  He  drew  a  chair 
beside  the  sofa,  a  low  one.  She  did  not  resist  when  he 
took  her  hand  in  his,  and  held  it  there  while  he  sat,  now 
and  again  putting  his  lips  upon  it,  hiding  his  eyes  from 
iher;  more  than  one  salt  drop  fell  upon  that  little  hand. 

"  So  they  cut  off  your  hair  ?"  Still  there  were  clusters 
of  it,  heavy  over  the  white  brow. 

"  It's  growing  again  now." 

And  then  silence. 

In  the  cage  by  the  window  the  canary  burst  into  chirp- 
ing song,  and  a  little  whimsical  smile  came  to  Joan's  pale 
lips. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  335 

"  He  has  more  to  say  to  me  than  you  have." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear !" 

She  watched  him  a  little  while,  strong  and  comforting1 
he  looked,  although  his  voice  was  strangely  shaken,  his 
words  so  few,  his  eyes  so  bloodshot.  But  how  had  he 
come?  Who  had  sent  him?  The  weak  heart  began  to 
beat,  the  pale  face  to  grow  whiter,  even  the  lips  to  lose 
their  colour.  She  made  a  movement ;  Karl  saw  the  direc- 
tion, had  poured  the  brandy  out,  held  it  to  her  lips  with 
his  arm  making  a  pillow  for  her  head,  quicker  than  a 
woman  could  have  done.  All  his  strength  turned  into 
tenderness. 

"  Lie  still,  you'll  soon  be  all  right,  touch  of  faintness — 
nothing  when  you're  coming  out  of  an  illness.  I  had  it 
myself  in  Cape  Town.  Gulp  it  down.  Don't  like  it,  eh? 
I  suppose  it  is  pretty  bad." 

When  she  had  forced  down  the  dose  he  had  given  her, 
he  put  the  glass  to  his  nose. 

'Thought  so — poison — One  Star?  Must  see  about 
getting  you  something  decent  to  drink." 

"  Don't  go,"  she  gasped  out. 

"  Go !    Not  me,"  he  said.    "  Why  should  I  go?" 

"  Oh !  but  if  you  knew,  if  you  knew." 

She  was  not  past  the  shame  of  it,  the  painful  red 
showed  through  the  wan  cheeks,  and  the  eyes  filled.  Her 
hands  went  up  to  hide  her  face.  She  buried  it  in  the 
pillow.  Karl,  unnerved,  dropped  the  glass,  damned  it, 
j:ut  a  caressing  hand  on  her  shoulder;  she  felt  the 
tremour  of  it. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  he  said  again,  not  master  of  his 
voice ;  he  could  not  bear  to  see  her  ashamed  before  him. 
"  Don't  speak,  don't  try  to  speak.  God  knows  I  don't 
want  to  hear  what  you've  got  to  say.  But  you  won't  hide 
away  from  me  again,  will  you  ?  You'll  let  me  help  you  ? 
Oh,  Joan,  my  little  love,  my  little  only  love,  don't  hide 
yourself  awTay  from  me  because  you've  been  in  trouble." 
And  then,  emboldened,  he  had  both  arms  about  her,  and 
his  wet  cheek  next  her  wet  cheek.  "  That's  right,  let  old 


336  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Karl  comfort  you,  poor  old  Karl,  who  hadn't  the  luck  to 
help  you  through  it,  whatever  it  was,  but  who  is  here 
now." 

Presently  they  both  grew  calmer.  Karl  was  able  to 
walk  about  the  room  a  little,  to  stretch  himself,  to  clear 
his  voice  and  throat. 

"  I  am  not  ill  now,  only  weak — and  I  didn't  expect  you. 
You  haven't  told  me — how  did  you  find  me — who— did 
anybody  send  you?"  said  Joan  from  the  sofa. 

"  Nobody  sent  me.  I  had  to  find  you ;  you  know  I  told 
you  I'd  come  to  you  if  ever  you  were  free " 

"  Oh !  don't,  don't.  You  don't  know  what  has  hap- 
pened !  Karl !  oh,  Karl !"  and  the  shame  seized  and  shook 
her  with  sobs. 

He  left  off  walking  about,  he  had  his  arms  about  her 
again,  his  voice  was  as  deep  as  his  heart  was  large.  He 
whispered  to  her : 

"  Hush  !  hush,  my  darling,  don't  cry,  Karl  knows,  Karl 
understands.  Some  villain  has  stole  a  march  on  you,  God 
curse  him !  Do  you  think  it  matters  to  me,  do  you  think 
it  makes  any  difference  between  us?  Some  day  perhaps 
you'll  tell  me  about  it,  and  he'll  get  his  deserts,  but  to-day, 
to-day,  dear,  say  you're  glad  because  I'm  here,  rough  old 
Karl,  who  loves  you,  who  wants  you  never  to  cry  any 
more.  Hush,  hush,  darling,  I  can't  bear  it."  Gradually 
her  sobs  ceased. 

"  How  good  you  are." 

"Good!" 

"  But  you  mustn't  call  him  a  villain.  It  was  my  fault, 
mine." 

"  Never  mind,  dear,  never  mind." 

"  Oh !  but  I  must  say  it.  I  had  known  him  such  a 
little  time." 

"  Don't  talk  about  it." 

"  And  there  was  no  one  like  him.  I've  heard  you  say 
it,  there  was  no  one  like  Louis." 

"  Louis !" 

There  was  a  noise  as  if  something  had  broken  in  his 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  337 

ears,  and  his  face  grew  swollen  and  red.  All  his  warnings 
had  not  warned  him.  Louis !  the  word  beat  upon  him, 
throbbed  in  the  room.  His  hands  clenched  and  un- 
clenched themselves  mechanically,  he  swayed  on  his  feet, 
and  Joan's  face  was  indistinct.  Her  weak  voice  went  on : 

"  You  must  not  be  angry  with  Louis.  Karl !  don't  be 
angry  with  Louis.  I  had  known  him  barely  three  weeks. 
What  wonder  so  light  a  woman  held  him  so  short  a  time." 

Her  heart  had  grown  soft,  not  hard  in  her  suffering. 
She  remembered  only  the  lover  who  was  "  like  myrrh 
unto  her."  She  had  no  thought  of  him  that  was  not 
mingled  with  the  craving  for  his  presence.  Even  his 
name  helped  her,  and  here  was  Karl,  who  loved  him  too. 
Hope  was  like  wine  in  her  veins. 

"  Tell  me  about  him,  Karl,  tell  me.  He  has  forgiven 
me?" 

"  Eh !  What !"  He  was  coming  to  himself,  the  room 
was  growing  clear ;  but  now  his  face  was  paling,  settling 
into  rigid  lines,  his  eyes  looked  wild,  fierce,  and  strange. 

"  I  ought,  sometimes  I  think  I  ought,  to  have  done  what 
he  asked  me.  It  was  for  you  he  wanted  it.  Karl,"  for 
he  had  turned  his  back  upon  her,  she  could  not  see  his 
working  face.  "  Karl,  are  you  angry  I  did  not  give  him 
the  farm?" 

"  Wait  a  minute,  wait  a  minute,  dear."  The  hideous 
thing  was  true  then,  it  fastened  on  him.  And  the  whole 
truth  was  here  before  him ;  he  had  but  to  keep  calm,  keep 
quiet — the  foul  deed,  the  full  ugliness  of  it  was  going  to 
be  shown  to  him — if  only  he  could  keep  quiet,  if  only  the 
blood  would  leave  off  beating  in  his  ears.  Back  to  the  low 
chair  he  came,  and  this  time  it  was  she  who  sought  his 
hand,  and  held  it. 

"  Karl,  was  I  really  wrong?  I  think  I  was  ill  then,  but 
even  now  it  seems  to  me — you  know  how  Piet  hated  the 
mining — and  he  was  dead,  he  could  not  protect  himself." 

Karl's  voice  was  strangled  in  his  throat,  but  Joan 
noticed  nothing;  she  was  pleading  with  him  to  find  her 
wrong. 

22 


338  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  Louis  wanted  you  to  make  over  the  ground  to  him  ?" 
Karl  got  out. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  instructed  him ;  it  seemed  impos- 
sible for  me  to  do  it.  I  was  wrong,  perhaps  I  was  wrong." 

"  Tell  me  clear,  try  and  tell  me  clear." 

"  He  loved  me  at  first,  he  did  love  me,  Karl,  nothing 
to  do  with  the  farm." 

So  she  had  doubted  too !  He  heard  it  in  her  assevera- 
tion. He  had  dashed  his  fist  in  Louis's  face,  and  then 
crawrled  back  to  say  he  was  sorry.  What  a  fool  he  had 
been  not  to  kill  him,  wring  his  neck,  the  viper,  the  vermin ! 
The  veins  swelled  on  his  forehead. 

"  And  when  you  wouldn't  let  him  have  the  ground 

"  I  left  him,  he  didn't  leave  me,  he  didn't  desert  me, 
don't  think  it,  Karl.  He  was  disappointed  in  me.  I 
didn't  want  to  be  a  drag  on  him.  I  knew  he  was  de- 
pendent upon  you,  I  knew  he  wasn't  rich " 

"  What !"  he  shouted,  screamed  it  almost.  No  one  had 
ever  seen  Karl  Althaus  like  this  before.  He  had  risen 
from  his  seat,  his  face  was  purple;  but  still  he  saw  her, 
terrified,  white. 

"  Go  on,  go  on.    He  wasn't  rich " 

"  Karl." 

"  I'm  beside  myself.  Don't  mind  me — he  wasn't  rich, 
you  say.  For  God's  sake  get  on.  Oh,  my  God,  don't  tell 
me  he  left  you  without  money !  Oh,  my  God,  the  thing 
I've  reared !" 

She  was  frightened  then,  would  say  no  more,  would 
have  retracted  what  she  had  said,  she  began  to  realise  that 
Karl  had  come  to  her  in  ignorance.  She  began  to  plead 
to  him  then,  not  for  herself,  for  Louis. 

He  tried  to  get  hold  of  himself,  not  to  let  himself  go. 
The  treachery  was  unspeakable;  he  had  loved  the  man 
as  more  than  a  brother,  had  given  him  his  confidence,  had 
trusted  him.  But  the  woman  must  be  thought  of  first; 
what  was  she  saying? 

"  Little  woman,  I'm  floored.  There's  no  good  trying  to 
hide  it  from  you.  It's  done  me ;  I  loved  the  boy — "  He 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  339 

might  control  his  words,  but  his  voice  was  beyond  con- 
trol. "  This  room  is  so  infernally  hot " 

He  was  rushing  from  it,  but  she  struggled  to  her  feet, 
and  held  out  her  weak  hands. 

"  Karl,  you  mustn't  go,  I  can't,  I  can't  let  you  go. 
Promise  me  you  won't  hurt  him,  you  won't  go  to  him." 

He  caught  hold  of  her  or  she  would  have  fallen,  made 
her  lie  down  again,  was  gently  rough  with  her,  and  re- 
proached her  for  over-exerting  herself. 

"  You  won't  go  to  him  ?"  was  all  she  answered,  putting 
her  arms  round  his  neck  and  holding  him.  Anything  he 
would  have  said  to  sooth  her,  anything. 

"  I  only  want  air,  dear,  let  me  go.  I'm  stifling  in  here, 
look  at  me." 

She  looked  at  his  red  face,  and  into  his  reddened  eyes. 

"  Promise  me  you'll  come  back  before  you  have  seen 
Louis." 

"  I'll  come  back,  I  promise  to  come  back." 

"  Before  you  have  seen  Louis  ?" 

He  drew  her  arms  down  gently  from  about  him,  laid 
her  back  on  the  pillow. 

"  I  promise.    There  is  no  hurry ;  Louis  can  wait." 

"  When  will  you  come  back  ?" 

"  To-morrow.  I  must  be  alone  now.  Believe  me,  I 
must  be  alone." 

"  And  you  won't  see  Louis  until  you  come?" 

"  No." 

He  was  not  in  a  hurry  to  see  Louis ;  there  was  no  hurry 
over  the  score  that  must  be  settled  between  them.  He 
was  glad  to  get  into  the  streets ;  the  close  little  room,  and 
the  sick  woman  pleading  for  Louis,  were  too  much  for 
him.  He  was  no  figure  of  romance,  this  poor  Karl.  The 
first  thing  he  did  was  to  look  for  a  public-house,  and  to 
gulp  down  a  dram  that  would  not  have  steadied  most 
people's  nerves.  But  it  steadied  his  a  little.  Then  he 
retraced  his  steps,  and  got  from  the  nurse  the  address 
of  the  doctor  who  had  been  instrumental  in  removing 
Joan  from  her  dirty  lodging-house. 


340  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

He  got  clear  as  to  the  history  of  her  struggle  then.  It 
was  true,  it  was  shockingly  true,  that  she  had  fought 
poverty  as  well  as  illness.  The  baby  who  had  lived  one 
short  painful  week  owed  even  its  burial  to  the  samaritan- 
ism  of  strangers.  The  doctor  himself  had  been  respon- 
sible for  her  at  the  Home.  Delicately  he  told  Karl  he  had 
friends  who  were  interested  in  the  case;  but  Karl  was 
rough  in  his  acknowledgment,  not  a  roughness  that  re- 
pelled the  doctor. 

"  Fifteen  thousand  a  year  the  fellow  had,  he  never  had 
less  than  that.  It  wasn't  enough  for  him  to  break  her,  but 
he  left  her  like  this." 

The  dead  baby  cried  to  Karl.  The  passion  of  ven- 
geance was  like  the  taste  of  blood  in  his  mouth,  the 
passion  of  pity  was  like  a  sword  that  pierced  him,  as 
he  tore  out  of  the  doctor's  small  house  as  he  had  torn 
out  of  the  small  room  that  held  Joan.  He  couldn't 
get  air  enough  or  whisky  enough.  But  it  was  the  whisky 
that  sobered  him  finally  when  he  found  himself  at  home, 
in  his  own  room,  with  steadier  nerves  and  more  compre- 
hensive thought,  and  the  ruin  of  all  the  best  that  life  had 
given  to  contemplate  calmly. 

"  I'll  look  after  the  kid,"  he  had  promised  Louis's 
mother,  and  the  "  kid"  had  been  father,  mother,  sister, 
brother  to  him.  Curious  the  incidents  that  came  to  him 
as  he  sat  alone,  his  limbs  stiff,  his  locomotion  paralysed, 
gazing  at  the  past  with  staring  eyes,  the  empty  bottles  and 
the  overturned  glass,  and  the  dawn  creeping  into  the  dis- 
ordered room,  epitomising  his  wretchedness.  Himself 
and  Louis,  Louis  and  himself,  he  saw  the  two  figures  to- 
gether through  many  vicissitudes,  the  boy  always  cling- 
ing to  him,  he  felt  the  cling  of  the  warm  little  hands  still ; 
a  few  maudlin  tears  found  their  way  down  his  nose.  He 
was  not  drunk,  his  legs  might  be  unsteady,  the  muscles 
of  his  face  working  rigidly,  but  the  things  he  saw  were 
quite  clear  to  him.  He  had  been  hideously  betrayed,  ill- 
used  ;  but  it  was  not  of  himself  he  was  thinking. 

Did  Joan  know  Louis  was  married?  or  must  he,  must 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  341 

Karl,  tell  her?    And  would  she  still  plead  for  him  when 
she  knew  ? 

What  must  he  do,  what  could  he  do  to  heal  her  wounds, 
to  make  her  forget  what  she  had  suffered,  to  bring  health 
and  strength  back  to  her,  to  make  right  the  thing  his  Louis 
had  done  ? 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 


JOAN  had  not  known ;  but,  when  she  learnt  that  Louis 
was  indeed  married,  she  easily  persuaded  herself,  she  tried 
to  explain  to  Karl,  that  it  was  for  his  sake,  for  the  sake 
of  the  Hayward  interest,  and  the  Hayward  support,  that 
Louis  had  done  it.  Karl  said  Louis's  wife  was  half-wit- 
ted. Joan  dwelt  on  that,  there  was  just  one  little  thing 
she  could  not  face.  But  the  power  of  seeing  pictures  that 
was  coming  slowly  back  to  her  made  it  unnecessary  she 
should  see  Louis  as  husband  to  this  half-witted  girl  of 
whom  Karl  spoke.  He  had  carried  her  off  to  get  for  Karl 
what  Karl  wanted.  The  marriage  ceremony  was  part  of 
the  sacrifice ;  Louis  was  no  woman's  husband  but  hers — • 
all  this  she  persuaded  herself. 

Karl  listened  to  her  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  and  the 
one  after.  For,  soon  he  found  there  was  no  pleasure  for 
him  like  the  painful  pleasure  of  hearing  her  talk.  Again 
and  again  he  went  back  and  listened  to  her,  and  never 
contradicted  nor  argued.  He  renewed  his  promise,  and 
was  even  made  to  swear  it,  that  he  would  not  seek  Louis 
out  to  injure  him.  So  far  he  promised.  He  made  his 
mental  reservations,  began  to  see  his  way  a  little  clearer, 
and  visited  the  sick  woman  every  day  whilst  pursuing  it. 
Flowers,  fruits,  and  wines  were  lavished  on  her.  The 
i  Samaritans  were  compensated,  the  doctor  made  rich  for 
life,  the  Home  endowed — all  this  Karl  could  do  for  her. 
And  she  clung  to  him,  there  was  no  doubt  she  clung  to 
him,  in  her  weakness  and  convalescence,  flushed  at  his 
coming,  paled  at  his  going,  watched  for  him,  and  clung  to 
him. 

Karl,  going  back  every  day  to  that  big  empty  palace 
of  his,  was  ever  more  oppressed  by  its  size,  by  its  empti- 
342 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  343 

ness.  He  had  built  it  for  Louis,  for  himself  and  Louis, 
he  had  never  pictured  himself  alone  in  it.  He  told  Joan 
how  lonely  he  was.  She  was  lonely  too ! 

"  You  could  write  there,"  he  said  wistfully.  "  There's 
a  big  room  with  a  bow-window  looking  right  on  to  the 
Park,  and  never  a  sound  would  come  to  you.  I'd  never 
disturb  you." 

For  some  plans  Joan  must  make,  something  must  be 
decided  when  she  was  strong  enough  to  think.  Already 
she  had  been  out,  Karl  had  fetched  her  in  his  victoria. 
Wrapped  up  carefully,  propped  up  by  pillows,  protected, 
Joan  looked  again  on  that  world  which  had  so  nearly  re- 
ceded from  her.  She  told  Karl  of  her  visit  to  the  ceme- 
tery in  the  Ball's  Pond  Road,  of  how  she  had  stood  before 
his  mother's  grave.  Nobody  would  have  believed  the 
rough  fellow  could  have  been  so  moved.  Later  on  when 
they  drove  out  he  took  her  to  see  a  little  marble  cross  he 
had  ordered;  the  carving  and  the  inscription  were  yet  to 
come,  he  told  her. 

"  Shall  we  put,  '  With  Christ,  which  is  far  better'?"  he 
asked  gently,  when  the  tears  his  thoughtfulness  had 
started  ceased  their  healing  flow.  "  I  remember  you  said 
that  was  on  your  own  mother's  stone.  I  thought  I'd  wait 
to  ask  you." 

"  He  was  baptised." 

"  I  know ;  you  called  him  Karl,  the  doctor  told  me." 

"  Louis  always  said  he  must  be  called  Karl." 

They  drove  on  a  little  in  silence. 

"  I  want  to  have  something  else  put  on  it,  Joan."  Un- 
der the  rug  he  took  her  hand.  "  Do  you  know  what  I 
want?" 

"  To  put  on  the  marble  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear.  It  is  '  To  the  memory  of  little  Karl.'  I 
want  to  put  '  To  the  memory  of  little  Karl  Althaus.'  " 

Still  she  did  not  understand,  only  her  face  seemed  to 
grow  smaller  and  more  pathetic,  and  unshed  tears  dark- 
ened her  eyes.  She  could  not  answer  him.  He  went  with 
her  into  the  house,  each  day  she  had  grown  stronger.  At 


344  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

first  he  had  carried  her  upstairs,  then  he  only  supported 
her,  now  she  walked  alone  with  only  his  arm  to  steady 
herself  by ;  he  dared  not  wait  until  she  was  independent 
of  him.  He  followed  her  into  the  room,  helped  with  her 
unswathing  from  her  wraps. 

"  Joan,  I'm  all  alone  in  that  big,  empty  house  of  mine. 
I  ought  to  have  been  your  brother-in-law.  I'm  the  nearest 
to  you,  you  know  you've  got  no  one  nearer  than  me. 
Come  and  make  a  home  for  me.  I'm  a  rough  fellow,  but 
I  know  how  to  keep  out  of  your  way  when  you  don't  want 
me.  It's  a  beautiful  room  to  write  in;  I've  told  you  it 
looks  right  over  the  Park.  Some  days  perhaps  you'll  dine 
with  me,  sit  at  my  table ;  you  know  what  it  would  mean 
to  me,  just  having  you  there.  Will  you  come?" 

She  was  weak  in  health,  a  little  weak  perhaps  mentally. 
She  had  been  through  deep  waters.  But  since  Karl  had 
come  she  had  felt  the  comfort  of  warm  human  sympathy, 
and  the  forlornness  had  left  her.  Only  six  weeks  ago  the 
poor  half  moribund  baby  had  been  born  to  her ;  she  could 
not  yet  face  the  burden  of  her  own  life,  she  realised 
vaguely  that  she  was  not  fit,  not  yet  fit  to  face  it.  It  was  a 
resting-house  he  offered  her,  she  thought,  a  space  in  which 
to  grow  strong. 

And  he  pleaded  well. 

"  I  built  it  for  two,  for  him  and  me,  and  now  I'm  alone 
in  it." 

In  her  soul  she  had  built  a  pleasure-house  for  Louis, 
and  been  alone  in  it. 

"  I'm  not  well  enough  to  move,"  she  said  weakly. 

"  No,  but  you'll  grow  strong  there.  Both  of  us  are 
alone.  I  suppose  it  means  asking  you  to  take  pity  on  me, 
but  I've  thought  it  over  every  way,  and  I  don't  see  a 
better  way  out.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  walk  about 
that  damned  house  when  I  leave  you,  and  think  what  a 
mess  I've  made  of  things;  they  are  ghosts  I  see  there, 
ghosts." 

She  had  made  a  mess  of  things  too. 

"  I've  got  to  begin  all  over  again.    I  was  always  look- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  345 

ing  for  Louis,  and  Louis's  children,  to  get  a  family  around 
me.  Whenever  I  was  money-making,  I  thought  it  would 
be  good  for  them.  Whenever  I  thought  over  what  I'd 
got,  I  thought  how  I'd  spend  it  on  'em,  how  the  boys 
should  go  to  Eton,  how  they'd  look  to  me  for  treats.  I 
thought  of  the  country  estate  I'd  buy;  an  infernal  fool, 
you'll  say,  of  course  I'm  an  infernal  fool !  But  all  the 
house  is  full  of  Louis  and  those  children  of  his  ;  I  planned 
it  that  way.  It  haunts  me  now;  it's  ghastly.  All  of  it 
gone  into  one  little  grave.  Let  me  put  the  name,  let  me 
put  '  To  the  memory  of  little  Karl  Althaus ;'  I  expect  it's 
to  the  memory  of  all  the  Althauses  there  will  ever  be. 
And  take  my  name  yourself,  Joan.  It's  not  much  of  a 
name,  but  you've  got  a  greater  right  to  it  than  ever  he 
had." 

She  was  trembling. 

"  What  are  you  asking  me,  Karl  ?  What  are  you  ask- 
ing?" 

"  Nothing  you  need  mind  giving,  nothing.  Just  the 
right  to  take  care  of  you,  that's  all.  Give  it  me,  little 
woman,  you'll  never  be  sorry,  I  can  promise  you  that." 

He  was  standing  beside  her,  not  touching  her. 

"  If  there  was  a  better  way,  a  better  way  for  you  I 
mean,  I  should  see  it.  My  heart  is  in  my  eyes,  Joan, 
when  I'm  looking  at  anything  for  you,  and  I've  faced  this 
fairly.  'Twill  be  heaven  to  me  to  have  you  there,  but  if 
it  weren't  best  for  you  too,  I'd  do  without  it.  Come,  say 
y~s." 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  whilst  hers  was  unstrung, 
feeble.  Still  she  made  it  clear  to  him,  it  was  always  clear 
to  him,  that  she  had  nothing  to  give  him.  He  made  it  clear 
to  her,  however,  that  he  asked  nothing  from  her  but  the 
right  to  take  care  of  her.  And  Louis  was  married !  She 
could  see  Karl  was  angry  with  Louis,  she  could  not  see 
all  his  cause,  but  she  could  influence  him  until  his  anger 
cooled,  she  could  do  something  for  both  of  them.  Since 
she  had  known  the  Althauses,  they  had  swallowed  up 
her  life,  there  had  been  nothing  else  since  she  had  known 


346  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

the  Althauses.  And  to  sum  it  all  up,  she  was  too  weak  to 
take  care  of  herself,  and  she  felt  that  she  would  never 
grow  strong  again,  and  that  it  did  not  matter  what  be- 
came of  her.  Whenever  Karl  left  her  she  cried,  because 
she  felt  so  feeble,  and  could  hardly  move,  and  thought  she 
would  never  get  better.  Whenever  he  was  with  her  his 
strength  revived  her,  and  his  voice  put  courage  into  her, 
and  his  big  presence  comforted  her.  And  he  wanted  her, 
he  wanted  her  so  badly,  he  said,  and  nobody  else  wanted 
her.  So,  in  time,  he  won,  won  a  half  comprehending  con- 
sent from  her  to  take  his  name. 

Because,  with  strong  men  words  become  actions  almost 
before  they  are  shaped,  before  she  had  realised  quite  what 
he  had  meant,  she  found  herself  at  the  registrar's  with 
him,  vaguely  repeating  the  formula  that  turned  Louis  Alt- 
haus's  mistress  into  Karl  Althaus's  wife. 

The  next  few  weeks  were  spent  by  the  sea.  Instead  of 
the  scantily  furnished  "  Nursing  home  for  poor  gentle- 
women," Joan  found  herself  in  a  palace.  Instead  of  a 
hurried  attention  from  an  overworked  nurse  with  four 
other  patients,  she  had  a  day  nurse  and  a  night  nurse  to 
herself.  There  was  a  physician  from  Brighton  who  came 
twice  a  day  to  see  her,  there  was  a  great  man  from  Lon- 
don who  consulted  with  him,  there  were  unheard-of  lux- 
uries to  tempt  her  appetite,  elaborate  contrivances  to  give 
her  air  without  exertion.  The  whole  cultivated  intelli- 
gence of  half-a-dozen  people  was  brought  to  bear  upon 
the  simple  problem  of  restoring  to  strength  and  health 
this  poor  little  woman  who  had  been  so  buffeted  and 
beaten  by  fortune. 

Gradually  her  health  was  restored,  and  then  Karl 
brought  her  to  London  to  make  a  home  for  them  both. 

She  lived  in  his  house,  in  that  grey  solid  temple  he  had 
erected  to  himself  in  Park  Lane.  The  green  grew  round 
it,  the  trees  he  had  planted  flourished,  and  grew  tall. 
Ever  through  the  windows  the  panorama  of  the  Park 
stretched  its  paths  and  green  spaces  before  Joan,  to  rest 
her  tear-tired  eyes.  Slowly  her  vitality  and  strength  and 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  347 

intelligence  returned  to  her ;  but  her  beauty  never  wholly 
returned.  Always  there  were,  always  there  would  be, 
lines  round  her  eyes;  and  she  was  worn,  wrinkled,  she 
had  dried  up  with  the  blast  of  the  furnace  through  which 
she  had  matured.  But  still  it  was  a  dear  face,  and  it  filled 
the  empty  house  for  Karl,  and  made  it  home.  Karl  had 
never  had  a  home  since  he  had  been  a  man,  and  he  grew 
to  strange  happiness  in  it.  She  lived  there,  and  it  became 
as  a  sacred  place.  He  was  no  bridegroom,  but  he  was  a 
happy  man  who  had  a  home,  with  a  woman  in  it  who  filled 
his  heart. 

But  the  world  has  a  way  of  interfering  with  strange 
happiness,  of  disapproving  of  what  it  fails  to  understand, 
of  being  impertinent  and  inquisitive,  and  resentful  of 
being  ignored;  and  Karl  had  ignored  the  world — there 
was  no  doubt  about  that. 

Society  was  ready  to  be  entertained  at  the  house  in  Park 
Lane,  Society  heard  with  a  shock  that  there  was  a  lady 
installed  there;  the  thing  was  whispered,  but  the  sounds 
spread,  the  whispering  voices  swelled  into  chorus,  then 
the  clamour  grew  loud,  and  reached  Stephen  Hayward's 
ears. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  about  the  Althauses  ?  about 
Karl  Althaus  ?"  he  asked  Constantia  carelessly.  Stephen 
had  learnt  wisdom  since  the  day  when  he  suspected  Karl 
of  underhand  dealings,  but  he  had  not  been  able  to  im- 
part much  of  it  to  his  sister.  He  veiled  his  interest  in  the 
question,  sauntered  into  her  room,  took  up  the  quarterly 
she  had  laid  down  and  made  a  comment  or  two  on  an 
article  in  it,  before  he  asked  the  question  about  the  Alt- 
hauses. Constantia  was  more  in  the  way  of  hearing  gossip 
than  he,  and  the  kind  friends  who  had  laughed  at  the 
climax  to  her  endeavour  to  straighten  out  Society,  would 
have  been  sure  to  bring  to  her  such  a  titbit  as  that. 

She  was  not  the  woman  she  had  been. 

"  Why  do  you  care,  why  do  you  want  to  know  ?" 

"  I  like  him  Con.  I  can't  help  liking  him.  So  would 
you  if  you  knew  him.  Why  are  you  so  obstinate,  dear?" 


348  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

He  was  very  gentle  with  her,  smiled  and  shook  his  head 
at  her,  his  reproach  was  half  in  jest. 

"  He  is  a  thorough  good  fellow,  a  gentleman  too,  for  all 
his  want  of  a  coat-of-arms."  The  last  sentence  had  the 
bitterness  of  which  Stephen  had  never  cured  himself ;  his 
own  tarnished  coat-of-arms  never  gave  him  the  pleasure 
in  contemplation  that  it  gave  her. 

"  Am  I  obstinate?    I  don't  think  I  am  obstinate." 

"  You  haven't  heard  from  her  again  ?"  he  ventured. 

"  No !  Only  the  one  letter  you  saw ;  her  handwriting, 
but  his  letter." 

It  struck  him  that  Constantia  was  a  little  lonely,  that  the 
girl,  even  as  she  was,  would  have  softened  the  loneliness 
of  his  sister's  age.  The  years  between  them  seemed  to 
stretch  ever  a  wider  gap ;  his  daughter  might  have  bridged 
it.  The  poor  girl!  if  her  face  was  a  little  vacant,  her 
ways  were  very  gentle;  he  had  missed  the  young  figure 
about  the  house,  the  sense  of  responsibility,  even,  that  it 
brought  with  it.  His  disgust  for  Louis  never  spread  to 
the  girl;  he  missed  her,  he  thought  perhaps  Constantia 
missed  her  too. 

"  You  would  not  punish  her  for  what  was  not  her 
fault  ?"  he  said  tentatively,  fidgeting  with  the  paper,  put- 
ting it  down. 

"  She  doesn't  want  me,  she  has  her  husband,"  she  an- 
swered slowly.  Constantia  was  lonely  too.  Stephen  saw 
that.  He  went  on  more  hopefully. 

"  The  story  is  about  at  the  clubs — I  thought  you  might 
have  heard  it — that  Karl  Althaus  is  not  living  alone  in 
Park  Lane.  He  is  not  at  all  the  sort  of  man  to  make 
himself  a  scandal,  to  contract  a  vulgar  liaison.  I  haven't 
seen  him  for  the  last  five  or  six  weeks.  My  own 
affairs " 

There  was  no  need  to  tell  Constantia  that.  She  knew 
his  own  affairs  had  not  been  going  well,  that  the  promo- 
tion he  had  looked  for  had  not  come,  that  his  diplomatic 
visit  to  Berlin  had  been  a  mere  sop,  a  mere  excuse  for 
leaving  him  out  when  there  had  been  something  to  be 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  349 

given  away.  She  knew  that  he  was  in  sight,  not  of  the 
success  he  had  earned,  to  which  he  was  entitled,  but  of  an 
obscurity,  of  a  being  passed  over,  that  he  had  not  been 
prepared  for. 

"  It  strikes  me  as  possible,"  he  went  on,  "  as  just  pos- 
sible, that  it  is  Aline  who  is  there,  that  he  is  shielding  her, 
or  looking  after  her  for  some  reason.  I  heard,  too,  he 
had  quarrelled  with  his  brother.  I  don't  know  how  these 
things  get  about.  I  thought  I'd  go  over,  and  look  him 
up,  but  there  is  no  use  my  doing  so,  if  your  mind  is  set 
against  her,  if  you  won't  see  her." 

She  looked  at  him  through  her  glasses,  she  wore 
glasses  now. 

"  I'm  getting  an  old  woman,  Steve,  an  old  woman. 
I'm  not  so  sure  about  things  as  I  used  to  be.  If  Aline 
wants  me,  if  Aline  is  in  need  of  me — I  failed  her  many 
times,  I  fear,  poor  child — I  am  ready.  She  can  come  back 
here.  Angela  would  not  have  done  more  for  her  than 
I  would  have  done,  than  I  will  do;  but  don't  ask  me  to 
see  him." 

All  the  vale  of  poor  Constantia's  declining  years  was, 
nevertheless,  full  of  doubt.  Would  Angela  have  done 
more  for  her,  could  Angela  have  done  more  for  her  ?  She 
knew  the  answer.  It  was  hidden  from  Stephen,  but  she 
knew  it.  Angela  would  have  loved  her  little  daughter; 
Constantia  had  only  loved  Stephen. 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  will  go  over.  It's  a  mare's  nest, 
I've  little  doubt  it's  a  mare's  nest  they've  got  hold  of,  and 
it's  Aline  that  Karl  is  looking  after." 

So  certain  was  he  that  when  he  asked  for  Karl,  and  was 
shown  up,  not  to  the  library,  as  heretofore,  but  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  had  a  back  view  of  a  figure  in  white 
draperies  on  the  sofa  protected  by  a  screen,  he  made  a 
step  forward,  spoke  Aline's  name,  or  had  almost  spoken 
it,  when  Karl's  outstretched  hands  and  hearty  voice 
checked  him. 

"  This  is  good  of  you,  Hayward.  By  Gad,  Hayward, 
I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Joan,  my  dear — she  has  been  very; 


350  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

ill,  you  know.  Don't  get  up,  Hayward  will  excuse  you. 
She  wants  a  lot  of  care — "  Karl's  smile  when  he  looked 
down  upon  the  fragile  little  woman  that  lay  there — not 
Aline,  but  a  fragile  little  woman,  with  a  wide  intellectual 
forehead  and  pathetic  eyes — was  a  revelation  to  Stephen. 
His  very  voice  had  altered,  it  was  quiet,  with  a  depth  in 
it,  with  a  note  of  tenderness,  of  overwhelming  anxiety  and 
tenderness,  that  it  was  difficult  to  hear  unmoved. 

Stephen,  being  a  man  of  the  world,  did  not  allow  his 
surprise  to  escape  him.  He  took  Joan's  hand,  and  hoped 
she  was  on  the  road  to  recovery,  and  congratulated  her 
on  her  view  from  the  window,  and  was  altogether  appar- 
ently at  ease  and  at  home  in  the  situation.  But  he  was 
inwardly  almost  overwhelmed,  not  because  he  was  a  stern 
moralist,  or  because  he  had  thought  Karl  Althaus  a  saint, 
but  because,  after  all,  the  gossip  had  been  justified,  and 
the  little  woman — well,  did  not  seem  quite  the  type  that 
one  would  have  expected  to  find  in  the  position. 

Of  course  it  was  absurd  of  him,  he  realised  it  had  been 
absurd  of  him,  to  be  so  sure  it  was  Aline  Karl  was  guard- 
ing. Aline,  of  course,  was  still  with  her  husband,  still 
with  that  cad  who  had  taken  her  away. 

Stephen  accepted  a  cup  of  tea  from  the  invalid,  who  sat 
up  to  pour  it  out,  and  explained  that  her  invalidism  was 
a  thing  of  the  past,  that  now  it  existed  chiefly  in  Karl's 
imagination.  She  said  a  pretty  word  or  two  of  acknowl- 
edgment, by  the  way.  Stephen  found  her  fascinating. 
He  got  under  the  charm  of  her  personality  very  soon, 
and  he  perceived  her  rare  intelligence.  It  transpired  in 
half-a-dozen  sentences  that  she  was  from  the  Cape,  and 
well  up  in  the  political  affairs  of  the  Colony;  and  they 
talked  South  Africa  with  rare  pleasure  and  enjoyment. 
He  noted  Karl's  pride  and  contentment  as  he  lay  back  in 
his  easy-chair  and  watched  them. 

It  was  almost  the  first  afternoon  Joan  had  felt  well 
enough,  or  been  considered  well  enough,  to  come  down  to 
the  drawing-room,  and  Karl  seemed  so  glad,  so  pleased, 
too,  when  his  friend  was  announced,  that  Joan  could  but 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  351 

feel  happier  and  more  like  her  old  self  than  she  had  done 
before. 

Stephen  was  carrying  away  the  impression  of  a  pleas- 
ant hour,  when  he  remembered  the  incongruity  of  it,  and 
what  people  were  saying.  He  could  not  understand  the  sit- 
uation even  yet,  could  not  credit  that  it  was  as  people  said. 

Karl  had  gone  downstairs  with  him.  They  turned  into 
the  library.  "  You  were  surprised,  Hayward  ?"  he  asked. 
The  pride  had  gone  out  of  him  a  little.  It  struck  Stephen 
he  didn't  look  altogether  happy  or  at  ease. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  had  heard  something  of  it,  of  course,  but 
all  the  same " 

"  You  didn't  expect  to  see  me  in  the  character  of  a  mar- 
ried man,  eh  ?" 

Stephen  hesitated,  turned  as  if  to  say  something,  but 
thought  better  of  it.  After  all,  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders ;  it  was  no  affair  of  his.  She  was  a  nice  little  woman, 
a  clever  little  woman  too. 

"  I  think  you  are  very  fortunate,"  was  what  he  finally 
got  out. 

Karl  sighed  at  that,  looked  at  Stephen  doubtfully. 

"  I  suppose  I'm  not  the  sort  of  fellow  you  would  have 
thought  she  would  have  married?" 

"  She  ?  But  I  don't  know  who  she  is.  I've  never  met 
her,  have  I  ?"  He  was  bewildered,  and  why  did  Karl  harp 
upon  the  word  marry  ? 

"  You  must  have  heard  of  her.  She  wrote  '  The  Kaffir 
and  his  Keeper,'  and  those  articles  on  '  Religion  and 
Slavery'  in  the  Times." 

"  Good  heavens !  Did  that  delicate  little  woman  write 
'  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper,'  and — and — ?"  After  all 
there  was  no  good  making  another  muddle,  no  good  not 
"  speaking  out."  "  When  did  you  get  married,  Althaus, 
why  have  you  kept  your  marriage  a  secret?  Are  you 
married?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  It's  not  I,"  he  said  quickly,  "  not  I  only,  old  chap ;  I 
heard  something.  I  did  not  credit  it ;  that  is  why  I  came 


352  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

here  to-day.  You  say  you  are  married,  then  why,  why  the 
secrecy  ?" 

Karl  reddened. 

"  I  suppose  they're  asking  ?"  he  said. 

"  Is  it  to  be  wondered  at  ?" 

"  Hayward " 

"  Don't  confide  in  me,"  Stephen  put  in  hastily.  "  My 
dear  fellow,  I  don't  want  to  know.  If  you  had  not  put  it 
that  way  I  should  never  have  asked." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  know.  I  want  everybody  to  know. 
Good  God !  what  are  they  saying  ?" 

Perhaps  Stephen  had  a  certain  curiosity.  She  was  a 
charming  little  woman. 

"  What  has  become  of  the  Turners  ?"  he  asked,  as  he 
flung  himself  into  a  chair  prepared  for  a  confidence; 
"  that's  a  Wilson  over  the  fireplace,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  others  are  still  in  Piccadilly.  I  haven't  had 
time  to  arrange  things  yet." 

He  had  not  had  time  to  arrange  even  his  thoughts,  he 
had  forgotten  the  world. 

"  What  are  they  saying  ?" 

"  What  do  they  always  say  under  the  circumstances  ?" 

"  You  don't  mean " 


"  They  say  you  are  living  here  with  a  lady " 

"  With  my  wife." 

"  Where  did  the  ceremony  take  place  ?  Why  does  no- 
body know  her?  Wherefore  the  mystery?  You  make 
me  speak ;  I'm  not  trying  to  force  your  confidence.  I  did 
not  credit  the  thing  when  I  first  heard  it,  I  came  round  to 
ask  you  what  it  meant.  There  I  found  you  and — her !" 

"  I've  been  a  fool,  I  see  I've  been  a  fool." 

"  Is  she  your  wife  ?"  It  was  interest  now,  not  curiosity 
that  prompted  him. 

"  Thank  God,  yes.  But  she  has  been  very  ill  ever  since 
we  have  been  married.  I  took  her  away,  we've  only  just 
come  back ;  I  never  thought  about  that,  about  what  people 
would  say.  I  wanted  to  keep  it  quiet  for  a  bit,  I  had  my 
reasons  for  wanting  to  keep  it  quiet." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  35S 

"  They  ought  to  be  strong  ones.  Am  I  to  go  on  ques- 
tioning you?  Am  I  to  ask  what  they  were?  You  can 
check  me  you  know ;  if  it's  a  delicate  matter,  I  don't  want 
you  to  tell  me.  But  if  I  can  put  anything  right,  help  you 
in  any  way,  well,  you  know  the  boot  has  been  on  the  other 
leg  long  enough." 

Karl  could  not  quickly  make  up  his  mind.  Of  course 
he  saw  in  a  moment  the  mistake  that  might  have  arisen, 
that  it  was  not  problematic  but  certain,  he  hardly  realised. 
And  the  mistake  must  be  put  right.  But  how  much  must 
he  tell  Stephen?  He  was  perplexed,  and  Stephen,  seeing 
that  he  was  perplexed,  spoke  then  with  more  earnestness 
than  was  habitual  to  him,  perhaps  more  sympathy. 

"  I  needn't  tell  you,  I  don't  think  I  need  tell  you,  that  I 
shall  respect  any  confidence  you  choose  to  place  in  me; 
but  there  may  be  something  here  in  which  a  man  of  the 
world,  a  man  of  this  particular  little  Mayfair  world,  can 
be  of  use.  If  you  care  for  me  to  know,  I  should  be  glad, 
Althaus,  I  should  feel  it  a  privilege  to  be  of  use  to  you." 

Stephen  thought  of  unmortgaged  Hadalstone,  of  his 
secured  income.  And  he  had  done  nothing  for  Karl, 
nothing.  He  was  a  proud  man,  it  would  solace  his  pride 
if  he  could  help  Karl  Althaus ;  in  a  delicate,  trickish  social 
matter,  as  this  seemed  to  be,  he  might  find  the  opportunity 
to  show  his  gratitude. 

Karl  made  a  dash  at  an  explanation. 

"  My  wife  was  a  Mrs.  de  Groot.  Her  first  husband  was 
a^  Dutchman.  We  were  married  recently,  in  Islington,  at 
a  registrar's  office." 

There  was  a  want  of  frankness  in  Karl's  manner,  a  note 
of  embarrassment. 

"  But  what — then  why ?" 

"  Wait  a  bit.  The  fact  is,  the  matter  touches  you  in  a 
way." 

"  Touches  me !" 

Louis's  name  was  nauseous  to  Karl's  lips,  the  thought 
of  Louis  was  noxious  in  Karl's  mind.  Daily  it  became 
more  so,  as  he  watched  Joan  struggle  back  to  health. 

23 


354  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

But  Stephen  would  have  to  be  told  something,  he  was 
Louis's  father-in-law,  some  explanation  was  due  to  him. 

"  There  was  a  bit  of  land."    How  it  all  halted,  how  dif- 
ficult it  was  to  tell !    "  Her  husband  owned  it — it  passed 
to  her.    A  scoundrel — some  fellows — wanted  it — Louis — 
Karl  floundered,  but  Stephen  thought  he  began  to  see 
daylight. 

"  If  you  are  trying  to  break  to  me  that  my  precious  son- 
in-law  is  a  scoundrel,  and  that  you've  only  just  found  it 
out " 

"  But  I've  got  to  get  even  with  him."  Again  Karl's 
eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  the  veins  on  his  forehead  swelled. 

After  all  he  was  on  fairly  safe  ground  with  the  "  bit  of 
land;"  he  need  not  tell  more  of  the  story  than  that,  the 
ugly  mean  story. 

"  It  was  the  deep  of  the  Geldenrief.  He  bought  the  out- 
crop against  me,  thinking  to  get  the  deep  from  her. 
Everything  he  had  came  from  me " 

There  he  broke  off.  Everything  Louis  had  came  from 
him,  and  everything  Louis  had  taken  from  him.  He 
lived  in  the  house  with  Joan,  under  his  roof  he  sheltered 
her,  but  nightly  his  arms  were  empty,  and  never  would  it 
be  otherwise.  He  could  be  brother,  protector,  friend,  but 
between  them  for  ever  was  Louis,  and  what  Louis  had 
done.  Something  he  must  tell  Stephen. 

"  The  Geldenrief  outcrop  isn't  worth  twopence,  and  the 
deep  I've  given  her  back.  I've  got  money  enough,  I've 
given  her  back  the  deep.  I  can  break  him.  I'd  like  to 
wring  his  neck.  His  father  was  a  wrong  'un,  and  his 
mother.  I  ought  to  have  guessed  how  he'd  turn  out. 
I've  promised  not  to  lay  a  finger  on  him — Stephen,  he's  a 
real  wrong  'un,  a  damned  bad  'un.  Thinking  of  him 
drives  me  mad."  He  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room. 

"He  robbed  her?" 

"  Of  everything." 

"  I  suppose  she  knew  nothing  of  business." 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  that — "  then  he  stopped  short. 

"  He  doesn't  know  you  have  married  her  ?" 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  355 

"  That's  it,"  he  stopped  his  restless  walk  abruptly. 
"  That's  it,  you  have  hit  it.  I  didn't  want  him  to  know — 
yet." 

"  But  you've  not  seen  him  lately,  you  have  had  some 
sort  of  a  difference  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  of  this.  It  was  over  his  marriage  \ve 
quarrelled.  Damn  him,  damn  him,  damn  him!"  Karl 
dug  his  foot  into  the  carpet,  smashed  a  paper-knife  in  his 
hand,  flung  away  the  pieces,  swore  again,  groaned. 

"  Stephen,  what  am  I  to  do?" 

"  Announce  your  marriage,  have  your  wife  presented  at 
court,"  answered  Stephen  promptly,  rising,  stretching 
himself.  "  Hasn't  he  counted  on  inheriting  your  wealth, 
sharing  it?  Won't  this  marriage  be  a  sufficient  blow  to 
him,  what  are  you  waiting  for,  man,  what  is  there  to  wait 
for?" 

Stephen  had  no  thought  of  his  daughter,  of  the  altera- 
tion in  his  daughter's  prospects.  He  only  thought  how 
best  to  help  Karl,  how  to  straighten  out  matters  for  that 
nice  little  woman  upstairs.  He  did  not  try  to  learn  more 
than  Karl  told  him. 

Of  course  there  were  difficulties  to  overcome,  difficulties 
Karl  himself  had  created. 

In  the  ordinary  way  Constantia  would  have  helped  them 
out,  but  Stephen  hesitated  at  asking  her  to  present  Karl 
Althaus's  wife.  He  told  her  the  circumstances,  however, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  how  comparatively  mild  she 
.was,  how  comparatively  easy  to  persuade  that  the  author- 
ess of  a  book  which  had  actually  captured  the  novel-read- 
ing world  about  two  years  ago  was  worthy  of  presentation 
to  Her  Majesty.  She  would  not  do  it  herself,  could  not, 
even  now,  stultify  herself  and  her  mission  to  this  extent. 

"  Besides,"  as  she  told  Stephen,  with  rather  a  painful 
smile,  "  if  I  have  to  present  a  Mrs.  Althaus,  it  ought  not 
to  be  this  one."  Which  speech  Stephen  deemed  of  happy 
omen  for  Aline. 

But  Constantia,  not  being  antagonistic,  and  Stephen  and 
she  owning  magnificent  poor  relations,  and  Karl  Althaus 


356  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

a  practically  unlimited  banking  account,  with  the  exercise 
of  a  little  tact  and  social  delicacy,  the  matter  of  Joan's 
presentation  at  court  was  duly  arranged. 

One  of  the  difficulties  was  Joan  herself,  when  the 
project  was  first  mooted  to  her. 

As  she  grew  stronger  and  her  mind  clearer,  her  posi- 
tion too  began  to  grow  cruelly  clear.  When  Karl  told  her 
that  she  was  to  be  presented  at  court  she  shrank  from  it. 

"  Oh,  no,  Karl,  not  that,  not  that.  Let  me  live  in  retire- 
ment, let  me  live  in  solitude.  I  can't  face  it,  you  know  I 
can't  face  it." 

She  saw  this  hurt  him,  though  when  she  pleaded  with 
him  he  had  no  answer.  He  saw  no  flaw  in  her,  he  knew 
she  was  fit  to  face  the  world.  Yet  he  would  not,  could 
not,  urge  her  to  anything  that  would  trouble  her.  He 
only  grew  more  restless,  looked  unhappy,  brooded;  she 
thought  he  brooded  over  what  his  Louis  had  done  to  her. 
He  wanted  her  to  face  the  world.  She  could  give  him  so 
little,  do  for  him  so  little,  but  this  she  could  do,  she  could 
nerve  herself  to  this  effort.  If  harm  came  of  it,  if  he 
and  she  lost  instead  of  gained  by  the  move,  at  least  she 
would  have  tried  to  please  him,  and  shown  him  her  desire 
to  do  so.  He  wanted  to  see  her  back  on  her  pedestal,  that 
pedestal  of  womanhood  and  purity  from  which,  in  his 
eyes,  she  had  never  slipped ;  but,  deep  down  Joan  knew, 
as  woman  do  know  these  things,  that  no  pedestal,  how- 
ever high,  could  be  tall  enough  to  conceal  the  flaw  that 
was  on  her.  If  he  would  put  her  up  for  all  the  world  to 
see,  then  all  the  world  might  see  the  stain. 

But  when  she  hinted  or  urged  it,  it  hurt  him.  So,  In 
the  end,  she  yielded,  for,  why  should  she  hurt  him? 
Rather,  far  rather,  would  she  risk  that  curious,  question- 
ing eyes  should  hurt  her.  If  Karl,  therefore,  thought  that 
diamonds  and  feathers  in  her  hair,  a  train,  and  Her 
Majesty's  gracious  acknowledgment  of  her  curtsey,  would 
stamp  out  the  past,  why  should  Joan,  poor  clear-sighted 
Joan,  deny  him  this  false  hall-mark  of  her  value  ? 

So  she  was  dressed  by  Jay's  in  a  real  lace  petticoat  and 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  357 

a  train  of  fine  velvet ;  she  wore  a  parure  of  diamonds  for 
which  a  Marie  Antoinette  might  have  sacrificed  a  king- 
dom— or  a  minister — and  looked  in  all  her  fine  feathers, 
what  in  truth  she  looked  without  them,  a  delicate  little 
woman  with  a  network  of  wrinkles  round  her  wistful  eyes, 
a  pathetic  droop  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  an  air  of 
fragility  and  aloofness  which  effectually  distinguished  her 
from  the  young  and  frivolous  debutantes,  the  happy 
brides,  and  the  ambitious  matrons,  who  thronged  to  Buck- 
ingham Palace  on  the  same  June  day. 

Still,  her  individuality  gained  her  a  certain  distinction. 
In  any  case  Society  would  have  accepted  her;  the  Hay- 
ward  approval,  the  Althaus  millions,  would  have  given 
her  the  entree.  Even  Constantia  admitted  that  it  was  fit 
and  becoming  Society  should  on  rare  occasions  permit 
genius  to  consort  on  equal  terms  with  birth,  and  "  The 
Kaffir  and  his  Keeper"  had  undoubtedly  been  a  work  of 
genius.  In  the  presence  of  Joan,  the  sceptics  forgot  to 
say  that,  of  course,  it  was  written  by  some  man  or  other, 
but,  when  she  was  not  present,  they  instanced  the  fact 
that  it  remained  the  solitary  proof  of  her  talent,  that  she 
had  never  written  anything  else,  to  prove  that  she  must 
have  been  assisted  in  it.  Nevertheless,  she  was  received, 
even  run  after,  and  she  achieved  what  is  called  a  social 
success. 

But  Joan  was  no  longer  happy  among  people.  The  nai- 
vete and  charm  that  had  been  hers  in  Cape  Town  were 
lost ;  she  was  shy  and  constrained,  conscious  of  her  false 
pretence.  Her  success  was  due  to  reclame,  to  Karl  and 
Stephen,  perhaps  not  to  anything  she  herself  said  or  did. 
A  stray  allusion,  an  untoward  anecdote,  brought  the  sud- 
den red  to  her  cheek,  the  sudden  tear  to  her  eyes.  She 
grew  paler,  thinner,  in  a  month  of  the  season's  gaiety,  and 
Karl  took  alarm. 

She  had  also  grown  nervous  with  him,  she  avoided  his 
glances,  evaded  being  alone  with  him ;  he  could  not  fail 
to  notice  it. 

"  She's  taken  a  dislike  to  me.     I'Ve  blundered  some- 


358  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

how,  she  is  going  back,  not  forward,  I'm  just  about 
making  another  mess  of  it,"  was  his  explanation  to  him- 
self; but  he  sought  for  opportunities  to  put  her  at  her 
ease,  to  restore  her  confidence,  to  get  her  to  tell  him  what 
ailed  her. 

It  was  during  this  time  he  made  his  arrangements  about 
Louis,  definitely  dissociated  himself  from  him  in  business, 
returned  his  letters  unread,  and  communicated  to  him, 
through  a  solicitor,  that  he  had  done  with  him.  In  fact, 
he  could  not  have  trusted  himself  in  an  interview,  the 
interview  that  Louis,  relying  on  the  old  power  and  the 
old  love,  had  asked  for. 

When  Louis  heard  of  the  presentation  of  Karl's  wife, 
when  he  knew  who  that  wife  was,  he  ceased  to  press  for 
an  interview.  Karl,  influenced  by  Stephen,  was  satisfied 
for  the  moment  to  go  no  further  in  his  vengeance.  Louis 
had  money  enough  to  live  on,  Karl  had  been  too  liberal  in 
the  past  for  Louis  to  have  any  immediate  difficulties  about 
money.  When  he  wanted  more,  he  would  be  unable  to 
make  it;  everywhere  he  would  find  the  ground  had  been 
taken  from  under  his  feet.  That  was  all  Karl  did,  cut 
him  off  from  himself,  and  tried,  very  hard,  and  somewhat 
unsuccessfully,  to  forget  his  existence.  He  did  not  want 
to  be  hanged  for  murder,  and  there  were  only  two  ways 
open  to  him.  He  made  a  settlement  on  Stephen's  daugh- 
ter, on  Louis's  wife,  a  settlement  of  which  only  Stephen 
and  the  lawyer  knew,  a  provision  in  case  Louis's  charac- 
ter developed.  Stephen  understood  the  spirit  in  which  it 
was  drawn  up,  and  was  grateful,  but  he  told  Karl  he 
could  now  provide  for  his  own  daughter,  that  he  was 
anxious  to  do  so,  that  both  he  and  Constantia  were  anxious 
for  reconciliation.  Karl's  impatient  persistence  in  the  deed 
made  further  argument  impossible.  He  could  not  bear  the 
mention  of  Louis's  name. 

Neither  man  contemplated  any  possible  reprisals  on 
Louis's  part.  They  were  short-sighted,  they  felt  secure, 
they  looked  not  an  inch  beyond  their  noses;  and  under 
their  noses  at"  the  moment  were  only  Joan,  and  the  Com- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  359 

mission  that  the  Radical  papers  had  forced  upon  the  Gov- 
ernment, to  report  upon  the  Raid. 

Joan  had  grown  pale,  and  weary  of  the  season,  and 
Karl  watched  her  wistfully,  followed  her  about,  endeav- 
oured to  interest  her  in  the  coming  Commission,  in  a  big 
scheme  he  had  on  hand  for  bringing  Oberammergau  to 
the  East  End,  and  he  tried  to  bring  back  the  smiles  to 
her  lips.  He  did  not  guess,  at  first,  that  it  was  this  very 
watching,  this  very  care  he  had  for  her,  that  was  bringing 
that  curious  frightened  look  into  her  eyes,  that  curious 
shrinking  when  he  approached  her.  There  was  nothing  of 
his  care  for  her  that  she  missed,  there  was  nothing  of  her 
gratitude  that  failed. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  start  writing  again?"  he 
asked  her  one  day,  wistfully.  "  That  book  now,  that 
'  Book  of  the  Jew'  that  you  told  me  about,  don't  you  think 
you  could  get  on  with  it?  I'd  take  you  down  to  the  East 
End,  show  you  the  sights,  local  colour,  don't  you  call 
it?  I  could  give  you  local  colour  for  your  book."  He 
remembered  how  once  she  had  told  him  the  joy  it  was  to 
her  to  trace  the  words  on  paper,  when  thought  turned 
into  phrase. 

"  Oh,  Karl,  don't  ask  me  to  write.  I  was  so  happy  when 
I  wrote." 

She  burst  into  tears.  But  when  he  wanted  to  take  her 
hands  from  her  face,  to  let  her  cry  on  his  shoulders,  to 
comfort  her  as  he  had  done  when  she  was  ill,  she  had 
shrunk  from  him,  thrust  him  from  her,  and  rushed  from 
the  room. 

"  God,  she  hates  me !"  he  cried,  and  stood  bewildered. 
What  had  he  done,  or  left  undone  ?  Why  did  she  repulse 
and  dread  him  ? 

It  was  her  clear  sight  that  was  moving  her,  her  restored 
intelligence  had  begun  to  see  what  Karl  had  done  for  her, 
what  sacrifice  he  had  made  in  this  marriage,  this  pre- 
posterous marriage,  into  which  she  had  been  hurried.  She 
knew  all  he  had  done  for  her ;  but  it  was  a  preposterous 
marriage. 


360  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Karl  loved  her!  Not  like  the  brother,  whose  part  he  as- 
sumed, but  like  the  lover,  whose  privileges  he  would  never 
claim.  She  saw  it  in  his  eyes,  sometimes,  when,  un- 
awares, she  raised  hers  and  met  them,  felt  it  when  they 
drove  home  together  in  the  brougham  of  an  evening,  and 
parted  in  the  hall,  knew  it  when,  in  strange  moments, 
she  saw  a  flush  in  his  cheeks,  an  involuntary  movement, 
and  a  sudden  fearful  beating  of  her  heart  betrayed  him  to 
her. 

She  trusted  him  completely.  Nevertheless,  the  day 
might  come  when  he  might  ask — no,  he  would  never  ask 
— but  when,  in  return  for  his  care,  his  unselfishness,  duty, 
answering  unselfishness,  might  force  her  to  give  from  pity, 
from  infinite  comprehension,  that  which  to  another  she 
had  given  in  love. 

At  the  prospect  she  shuddered,  and  her  dreams  became 
haunted,  and  she  wanted  to  hide  herself  from  his  sight. 
Karl's  eyes,  which  seemed  to  her  pleading  eyes,  Karl's 
wishes,  which  she  thought  she  read  there,  Karl's  hand  on 
her  shoulders,  all  outraged  her ;  for  in  her  life  there  was, 
there  could  be,  but  one  man. 

She  had  caught  a  sudden  glimpse  of  Louis  in  Bond 
Street,  seen  the  wide  shoulders,  the  poise  of  the  hand- 
some head,  and  again  she  was  back  in  the  past,  and  all  of 
it  was  dim  but  the  dear  touch  of  him,  when  he  had  first 
loved  her,  when  life  had  opened  glowingly.  Now  life  was 
empty,  there  seemed  no  hope  in  it.  After  she  had  seen 
Louis  once  more,  and  this  time  the  dark  eyes  had  met 
hers,  the  hopelessness  was  full  of  anguish.  She  knew  that 
her  marriage  had  outlawed  her,  even  from  memory.  And 
what  she  had  felt  for  Louis  in  the  past  was  not  dead  nor 
exhausted. 

Oftentimes,  when  Karl's  footsteps  overhead  woke  her 
from  a  sudden  dream,  and  she  realised  of  whom  she  was 
dreaming,  she  wished  she  was  dead,  she  wished  she  had 
died  with  her  baby. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 


HAD  Stephen  Hayward's  career  not  been  at  stake  about 
this  time,  he  might  have  been  able  to  help,  might  have 
seen  more  of  what  was  going  on.  As  it  was,  he  was 
absorbed  in  his  efforts  to  persuade  his  cousin,  and  to 
cause  it  to  be  represented  to  Lord  Sarum,  that  neither 
his  daughter's  marriage  nor  his  notoriously  augmented 
income  justified  the  suspicion  being  cast  upon  him  that 
he  knew  of  the  Raid,  or  had  in  any  way  taken  advantage 
of  it.  That  the  former  Under-Secretary  for  Foreign 
Affairs  was  one  of  the  ablest  men  on  their  side  of  the 
House  the  new  Government  knew,  but  the  sensitiveness, 
the  extreme  sensitiveness,  of  the  public  conscience  in  re- 
gard to  the  character  of  their  statesmen  was  reflected  in 
a  certain  party  aloofness  or  party  coolness  of  which 
Stephen  had  begun  to  be  aware.  It  was  inadvisable  for 
him  to  make  himself  conspicuously  Karl  Althaus's  friend, 
inadvisable  for  him  to  become  associated  in  the  public 
mind  with  the  South  African  capitalists.  He  had  to  walk 
with  extreme  wariness,  and  his  footsteps  had  better  take 
him,  for  the  present,  past  the  Althaus  door. 

Karl  had  only  himself  to  rely  upon  in  his  fierce  en- 
deavour to  understand  Joan's  attitude,  his  miserable  effort 
to  find  out  what  ailed  her.  He  lavished  diamonds  on  her, 
but  his  diamonds  made  matters  worse,  he  saw  that.  They 
went  out  a  great  deal,  and  they  entertained  a  great  deal, 
and  Joan  grew  paler  and  wearier.  He  insisted  on  a  week's 
quiet,  and  took  her  away  with  him  to  Paris  ;  the  shrinking, 
nervous  manner  she  had  begun  to  show  when  alone  with 
him  grew  more  pronounced.  He  began  to  lose  heart,  to 
grow  depressed,  and,  as  ever,  when  Karl  Althaus  grew  de- 
pressed he  harked  back  to  his  unfaith,  and  talked  Judaism 

361 


362  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

with  a  sort  of  rage  at  its  limitations.  He  was  supremely 
uncomfortable,  and  he  had  a  sort  of  idea  that  Christianity 
would  have  helped  him.  He  felt  that  curious  alienism  of 
the  Jew,  felt  it  was  that  which  was  estranging  Joan,  was  at 
least  standing  between  him  and  his  complete  comprehen- 
sion of  her.  When  he  got  on  this  topic  he  was  quieter, 
less  obviously  seeking  for  an  explanation  of  what  Joan 
could  not  explain,  less  embarrassing,  so  she  encouraged 
him  to  talk  to  her  about  it. 

He  got  it  into  his  head,  in  this  restless,  unhappy  time, 
when  the  little  woman  who  shrank  from  him  occupied  his 
thoughts  by  day  and  through  troubled,  sleepless  nights, 
that  if  he  felt  his  limitations  so  acutely  he  should  do 
something  to  minimise  other  people's.  This  was  what 
started  that  futile  scheme  which  brought  Karl  so  much 
undeserved  obloquy.  Yet,  in  the  idea  there  is  a  germ 
that  may  some  day  bear  fruit. 

Karl's  idea  was  not  to  convert  the  East  End  Jews,  but 
to  teach  them  the  story  of  Christ  and  let  that  convert 
them.  Societies  and  missionaries  had  been  a  complete 
failure,  at  least  that  is  what  it  seemed  to  Karl,  because 
he  was  a  man  grown  before  he  had  heard  of  the  Disciples. 
He  thought,  nevertheless,  that  he  had  found  a  way  of 
teaching  Christianity  to  his  fellow-countrymen  in  White- 
chapel.  He  wanted  to  give  them,  these  poor  brothers  of 
his,  the  belief  he  longed  for  but  had  never  attained, 
because  he  had  seen  it  bring  happiness  to  death-beds  and 
comfort  to  survivors,  and  no  amount  of  money  had  been 
equally  efficacious.  He  was  shy  of  his  own  idea,  because, 
not  having  personally  accepted  the  Gospel,  nor  being  any- 
thing but  ineradicably  a  Jew  and  an  unbeliever,  it  was 
difficult  for  him  to  explain  his  attitude;  and  with  the 
people  who  could  best  help  him  he  was  least  in  sympathy. 
It  was  only  the  Nonconformists,  the  Christians  who  have 
the  greatest  simplicity  in  their  faith,  that  he  had  found 
able  to  grasp  his  mental  attitude ;  and  it  was  only  the 
Romanists  who,  through  the  medium  of  sensation,  could 
convey  what  he  wanted  to  teach. 


363 

He  was  like  a  man  who,  drunk  with  champagne,  learns 
that  pure  water  can  quench  thirst,  that,  try  as  he  may, 
give  as  he  can,  the  people  are  too  many  for  him  to  fill 
with  wine,  and  some  of  them  must  ever  go  thirsty  if  he 
could  not  teach  them  of  water.  His  wealth  was  cham- 
pagne to  him,  and  he  was  even  now  and  always  exhila- 
rated with  it;  but  this  Christianity  that  soothed  death- 
beds was  water,  and  if  he  could  give  his  people  that,  it 
was  an  inexhaustible  well,  and  they  would  thirst  no  more. 

Ever  since  he  had  begun  to  be  a  rich  man  he  had 
wanted  his  mother  back  again,  to  ply  with  luxuries.  But 
Joan  had  wrritten  on  her  mother's  grave,  "  With  Christ, 
which  is  far  better."  He  wanted  to  feel  like  that,  he 
wanted  his  people  to  feel  like  that. 

He  was  confused,  because  nothing  is  so  confusing  as 
the  endeavour  of  a  teacher  to  impart  a  knowledge  which 
he  does  not  possess;  but  he  worked  out  a  plan  which 
seemed  picturesque  to  Joan,  and  capable  of  being  turned 
to  political  account  by  Stephen,  who  had  a  new  Education 
Bill  in  the  back  of  his  mind,  and  had  realised,  when  at  the 
Local  Government  Board,  some  of  the  difficulties  pre- 
sented by  alien  immigration.  Oberammergau  gave  Karl 
his  inspiration. 

He  would  build  and  endow  a  national  theatre  for  the 
performance  of  miracle  plays,  of  Passion  plays,  of  plays 
illustrating  stories  from  both  Testaments.  On  Saturdays 
and  Sundays  it  should  be  open  all  day,  it  should  be  in 
the  heart  of  Houndsditch,  and  the  Jews  should  be  bribed 
and  tempted  to  come  by  stories  of  Ruth,  and  tableaux  of 
Hagar  in  the  wilderness ;  they  should  be  taught  the  habit 
of  coming,  and  then,  when  it  was  their  resort,  their  habit- 
ual resort,  the  Story  he  wanted  them  to  know  should  be 
gradually  unfolded. 

Karl  had  a  thousand  charitable  schemes  for  his  people ; 
his  contribution  to  the  Board  of  Guardians,  gratefully 
large  and  unstinted  as  it  was,  hardly  represented  what  he 
was  prepared  to  do.  There  should  be  schools  and  hospi- 
tals, nursing-homes  and  homes  for  the  dying,  maternity 


364  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

charities  and  orphanages ;  but  all  should  be  in  connection 
with  his  theatre,  the  theatre,  where,  in  a  language,  the  very 
poorest,  the  very  youngest,  and  the  most  neglected,  could 
understand,  the  language  of  scenery  and  circumstance, 
the  "  story  that  had  moved  the  world,"  should  be  borne  in 
;upon  them  morning  and  afternoon  and  evening.  He  had 
it  in  his  mind  to  engage  great  actors  for  the  parts,  great 
artists  for  the  scenery,  great  musicians.  And  everything 
they  should  see  for  nothing,  those  poor  Jews,  who  now 
heard  the  story  only  in  adult  life,  when,  like  Karl,  it  was 
too  late  for  them  to  realise  it.  As  a  race  he  would  help 
to  keep  them  apart;  their  food,  their  language,  their 
ceremonies,  he  would  preserve.  But  they  should  hear 
Christ  was  born  for  them,  and  died  for  them ;  they  should 
hear  His  message. 

This  scheme,  crude  and  absurd  in  the  telling,  never- 
theless had  a  purpose  and  a  poetry  in  it  that  made  Joan's 
life  harder.  This  big  man,  with  his  simplicity  and  all 
his  unsatisfied  longings,  she  could  read  more  easily  than 
he  read  her.  She,  no  more  than  the  religion  he  failed  to 
grasp,  had  power  to  help  him,  or  at  least,  if  she  had  the 
power,  she  had  hardly  the  will.  The  situation  between 
them  was  strained,  at  times  almost  to  breaking  point. 
The  stronger  she  grew,  the  more  the  thought  of  Louis 
rose  and  dominated  her  mind ;  and  Karl's  dumb  love  for 
her,  Karl's  touch,  even  his  presence  in  the  room,  made 
her  longing  for  the  other  more  and  more  intense. 

She  tried  to  be  sympathetic  with  Karl  in  his  strangely 
inconsistent  scheme.  He  would  buy  land  in  the  East  End 
for  his  theatre,  he  commenced  buying  land. 

"  You  see,  Joan,"  he  said,  talking  eagerly  to  her  with 
the  plans  in  his  hand,  and  an  appointment  with  the  archi- 
tect actually  made,  "  you  don't  get  a  chance  of  believing  a 
thing  if  you  don't  hear  it  till  you've  grown  old,  and  scep- 
tical about  most  beautiful  things,  and  are  always  looking, 
so  to  speak,  for  hall-marks,  and  authentic  signatures, 
doubting  everything.  If  I  build  this  theatre,  mind  you, 
and  fill  it  with  little  children,  and  let  them  see  the  Na- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  365 

tivity,  and  the  Wise  Men  coming  from  the  East,  and  the 
Resurrection,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  they  won't  forget  it, 
they  won't  pooh-pooh  it;  it  will  just  sink  into  their  minds, 
and  it  will  stay  there — "  He  was  always  wistfully  ask- 
ing for  sympathy,  for  assurance. 

A  short  interregnum  there  was  in  Joan's  poor  literary 
life,  when  Karl  re-inspired  her,  when  she  started  writing 
again  with  the  big  scheme  for  inspiration,  when  she  sat 
in  that  many-windowed  square  room  which  overlooked 
the  Park,  and  tried  to  repay  him  for  all  he  had  done  for 
her,  by  making  him  the  hero  in  that  "  Book  of  the  Jew" 
which  was  faintly  projected,  which  seemed  still  to  have 
life  in  it,  even  if  it  were  a  life  she  found  it  hard  to  kindle. 

But  Louis  was  in  London.  It  was  that,  it  was  the  rare 
hurried  glimpses  of  him  in  the  Park  or  in  crowded  as- 
semblies that  paralysed  her  pen,  made  her  days  tumultu- 
ous, and  her  nights  sleepless.  That  fine  fagaded  Park 
Lane  house  held  an  unhappy  man  and  an  unhappy  woman, 
living,  the  one  in  his  artificial  complication  of  the  White- 
chapel  conversion  scheme,  the  other  in  the  make-believe 
of  her  literary  work,  but  each  of  them  distracted  by  the 
other,  and  owning  it  in  guilty  glances,  averted  faces, 
strange  silences,  awkward  moments. 

Great  love  has  great  insight.  Karl  began  to  under- 
stand. He  had  known  for  a  long  time  that  he  wanted 
his  wife ;  he  began  to  know  it  was  that  which  she  feared. 
He  did  not  suspect  she  had  seen  Louis,  for  he  thought 
Louis  had  left  London,  and  had  not  been  in  town  since  the 
night  when  he  had  knocked  him  down.  Chance,  which 
had  given  Joan  her  distracting  glimpses,  had  left  Karl  in 
ignorance.  Not  knowing  she  had  seen  Louis,  not  fearing 
anything  but  that  she  feared  himself,  he  made  his  sudden 
plan,  and  saw — yes,  saw  relief  flash  into  the  tired  eyes, 
heard  a  sigh  break  from  her,  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  get  along  without  me  for  a 
bit:  I  don't  like  the  way  this  thing  is  going  on  over 
there.  I'm  uneasy  about  the  way  they  are  conducting 
the  trial ;  I  don't  trust  the  judge.  I've  got  a  lever  I  could 


366  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

use  with  Kruger,  even  now,  and  I  could  use  it  better  from 
Cape  Town  than  from  here.  The  boat  goes  Thursday; 
I'd  like  to  slip  over  for  a  spell.  They  could  get  on  with 
the  theatre  plans  just  as  well  without  me,  and  you — you'd 
be  all  right  for  a  bit;  you  could  get  ahead  with  the 
book." 

He  had  seen  the  relief  lighten  into  her  eyes: 

"  Of  course  I  should  miss  you." 

"  Eh !  oh,  of  course.  But  you  think  I'm  right,  don't 
you  ?  You  think  some  of  us  ought  to  be  on  the  spot  ?" 

"  Not  Pretoria !  You  don't  think  of  going  to  Pre- 
toria?" 

"  We  must  see  how  the  land  lies." 

She  was  glad,  there  was  no  doubt  she  was  glad,  in  the 
prospect  of  his  going.  That  had  been  her  first  thought; 
it  swallowed  up  everything  else.  She  would  be  alone; 
she  would  be  free  from  watching,  loving  eyes,  she  would 
be  free  from  the  good-night  kiss  that  Karl  gave  her  some- 
times, that  she  always  dreaded,  free  from  the  shy  broth- 
erly touch  that  had  no  touch  of  brotherliness  in  it,  from 
the  nights  when  Karl's  restless  footsteps  over  her  head 
filled  her  with  remorse,  when  the  cessation  of  them  filled 
her  with  terror.  She  would  be  free,  the  days  and  the 
nights  and  the  house  would  cease  to  hold  this  anguish 
of  conflicting  passions. 

Something  of  this  she  tried  to  tell  him  before  he  went. 
When  he  was  actually  going,  every  other  feeling  was 
subordinated  to  remorse. 

"You  have  been  so  good  to  me,  Karl,  and  I — I  have 
given  you  nothing." 

She  broke  down  at  his  going,  and  sobbed  in  his  arms. 

"  I'm  not  ungrateful,  I  understand,  I  know.  Karl, 
come  back  to  me  soon.  I  will  be  different,  I  will  try  to 
be  different." 

He  soothed  her  and  caressed  her  hair. 

"  There,  there.  What  is  there  to  fret  at?  I'll  soon  be 
back.  There's  no  talk  of  gratitude  between  you  and  me. 
I  don't  want  anything  of  you." 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  367 

He  lied ;  she  felt  it  in  the  sudden  beat  of  his  heart,  the 
sudden  tightening  of  his  arms.  "  I  only  want  that  you 
should  put  on  a  smile,  and  be  the  old  Joan,  and  be  happy 
with  me." 

"  When  you  come  back " 

She  felt  his  goodness,  all  his  sacrifice. 

"  When  I  come  back,"  his  voice  was  hoarse,  "  it  shall  be 
as  it  was  before  I  went  away — just  as  you  wish,  every- 
thing as  you  would  wish." 

"  Oh,  Karl !  why  aren't  you  different  ? — you  make  me 
ashamed.  Why  was  I  never  worthy  of  you?" 

"  Nonsense,"  he  thrust  his  emotion  into  the  back- 
ground, spoke  gently: 

"  You  mustn't  have  morbid  ideas,  dear,  mustn't  let  me 
go  away  and  think  you're  brooding.  Perhaps " 

But,  even  in  this  her  softened  mood,  when  he  held  her 
in  his  arms,  he  would  not  say  that,  perhaps  when  he  came 
back,  perhaps  when  she  had  had  time  to  think  things  over, 
when  she  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  knowledge  how 
well  he  loved  her,  she  would  let  him  love  her.  He  would 
not  say  it,  not  leave  it;  as  a  dread  in  her  mind,  a  duty  to 
which  she  must  nerve  herself.  He  finished  his  sentence 
differently  to  what  he  had  meant.  His  voice  was  gruff 
and  broken : 

"  Perhaps  when  I  come  back  we'll  give  up  this  town 
life,  try  the  country,  and  see  if  you  don't  do  a  bigger  thing 
even  than  '  The  Kaffir  and  his  Keeper,'  with  our  English 
fields  and  hedges  to  help  you." 

So  the  moment  of  their  farewell  was  over,  and,  if  Karl 
took  his  last  kiss  from  her  lips  instead  of  from  her  cheeks, 
losing  control  for  one  half-second,  he  realised,  before  he 
was  in  the  train  on  the  way  to  Southampton,  that,  with  all 
her  tears,  or  remorse  for  her  coldness,  there  had  still 
been  no  response  from  those  lips. 

And  now  again  Joan  was  alone. 

Louis  knew  it,  knew  it  almost  before  it  was  an  accom- 
plished fact.  It  was  in  the  air  that  Karl  Althaus  was 
going  back  to  South  Africa  to  use  his  personal  influence 


368  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

with  Kruger  on  behalf  of  the  Reform  Leaguers,  and  that 
he  had  secured  a  passage  on  the  Berwick  Castle.  It  was 
in  the  evening  papers  the  night  before  he  sailed.  Of  his 
actual  departure  Louis  assured  himself. 

All  those  titled  friends  of  Louis's,  all  those  Society 
ladies  who  had  found  him  attractive,  had  not  forsaken 
him  because  he  had  married  Stephen  Hayward's  daugh- 
ter, or  because  Karl  had  quarrelled  with  him.  Many  of 
them  did  not  even  know  that  Karl  had  quarrelled  with 
him.  That  was  how  he  came  to  be  at  Lady  Herodsfoot's 
reception  two  nights  after  the  Berwick  Castle  had  left 
Queenstown.  Karl  had  wished  Joan  to  go  out  during 
his  absence,  to  go  on  living  her  life  as  she  had  been 
living  it. 

There  was  nothing  dress  could  do  that  it  had  not  done 
for  Joan  that  night.  Karl's  absence  had  already  taken  a 
little  of  the  strain  from  her  eyes.  Then,  she  had  written 
a  few  sentences,  and  the  ring  of  them  was  pleasing  her 
still  as  she  mounted  the  stairs,  there  was  a  certain  curve 
in  her  lips,  and  a  dreaminess  of  expression.  Louis 
watched  her  from  his  point  of  vantage,  he  had  thought 
she  would  come,  and  he  watched  for  her.  She  had  re- 
gained her  figure,  once  more  it  was  attractive,  slender, 
yet  svelte  and  full  of  curves. 

The  French  artist,  who  was  responsible  for  her  toilette, 
had  undraped  the  white  shoulders  below  the  top  of  the 
arm,  cutting  the  dress  as  our  grandmothers  cut  their  low 
evening  bodices.  The  little  face  set  on  the  delicate  throat 
was  pathetically  small,  and  the  blue  eyes  were  wistful 
eyes,  but  Louis  was  satisfied  with  what  he  saw. 

She  was  still  desirable, — and  she  was  his,  of  course 
she  was  his;  she  had  been  stolen  from  him — Karl  had 
stolen  a  march  upon  him.  He  watched  her  coming  up 
the  stairs,  and,  when  the  sudden  heart-beat  told  her  he 
was  there,  and  she  looked  up  and  saw  him,  she  saw  the 
old  Louis;  his  hand  was  brushing  up  his  moustache,  a 
smile  sat  on  his  lips.  When  that  hand  of  his  was  stretched 
put  to  her  she  did  not  touch  it,  she  was  speechless,  she 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  369 

bowed  her  head  only,  but  the  crush  on  the  stairs  impris- 
oned her  and  held  her,  and  his  voice  had  lost  no  charm. 

"  At  last !"  he  said ;  "  at  last !"  Then  stairs  and  peo- 
ple, flowers  and  music  became  confused  and  indistinct 
about  her,  and  only  Louis's  voice  and  face  were  clear. 
His  "  at  last  1"  was  a  low  murmur  for  only  her  ears. 
By  his  side  was  Aline  in  her  tall,  patrician  fairness. 

"  Your  wife  ?"  said  Joan,  and  this  time  she  put  out 
that  trembling  hand.  It  was  cold,  too ;  Aline  felt  it  was 
cold  through  her  glove. 

"  You  are  Louis's  brother's  wife?"   said  Aline. 

Louis's  brother's  wife!  The  words  were  strange 
enough  with  Louis  smiling  there,  his  handsome  eyes  and 
lips  smiling  at  her,  no  less  beautiful  than  she  had  ever  seen 
them.  How  the  smooth,  thick  black  hair  lay  back  from 
the  white  forehead.  In  the  imperial,  in  the  brushed-up 
points  of  the  moustache,  there  were  touches  of  grey. 

"  You  and  Joan  ought  to  see  something  of  each  other," 
he  said,  still  looking  at  Joan  with  that  smile.  "  This  Ss 
the  first  time  you  have  met,  but  Joan  has  heard  of 
you.  I  told  you  of  Stephen  Hayward's  beautiful  daugh- 
ter, you  remember — at  the  fancy-dress  ball?"  he  had  the 
insolence  to  add. 

She  remembered,  she  was  stunned  with  memory. 

They  played  the  farce  through.  Aline,  dull  to  what 
went  on  around  her,  was  attracted  in  some  unusual  way 
to  this  little  woman,  pale,  and  with  such  cold  hands,  wife 
pf  that  strange  brother  of  Louis's,  who  sat  up  all  night 
drinking  whisky  with  him  in  Cape  Town,  who  was  so 
rough,  and  unlike  any  one  she  had  ever  met.  Louis  left 
the  two  women  together,  he  made  the  opportunity  to  leave 
them  together.  He  could  afford  to  wait  his  time. 

Joan  could  not  reject  the  advances  Aline  made.  She 
had  been  told  the  girl  was  not  quite  like  other  girls.  Very 
soon  she  penetrated  into  the  truth  of  it,  and  was  subtly 
glad,  without  knowing  why,  and  interested  in  her. 

"  I  want  to  come  and  see  you.  I  may  come  and  see 
you?"  Aline  pleaded,  as  they  parted.  Not  a  word  had 

24 


370  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Louis  said,  not  a  word  to  her  alone.  Some  one  else  had 
taken  her  to  supper,  and  called  up  her  carriage  for  her. 
Mrs.  Karl  Althaus  never  lacked  cavaliers,  and  Louis  had 
stood  aloof.  It  was  in  the  hall  they  had  met  again  and 
Aline  had  made  her  request.  The  Society  shibboleth  came 
so  easy,  so  pat. 

"  I  shall  be  charmed,"  answered  Joan.  She  said  the 
words  over  to  herself  as  she  sank  back  into  her  carriage 
and  laughed  hysterically.  She  would  be  charmed — if 
Louis's  wife  came  to  see  her.  How  strange  it  sounded, 
how  strange  it  was,  and  the  evening  was  stranger  still. 
Why  was  she  excited,  what  agitated  her,  filled  her  veins 
with  fire,  shook  her,  and  banished  thought? 

Of  course  Aline  called  on  Joan,  she  called  the  very  next 
day;  used  as  a  pawn,  she  made  her  unimportant  move. 
The  link  that  bound  these  two  was  magnetic  between 
them.  Aline  came  constantly  to  Park  Lane  during  the 
next  week  or  two.  Louis  never  came  at  all.  The  works 
of  art,  of  which  the  house  was  so  full,  drew  Aline,  who 
had  grown  up  in  an  atmosphere,  dim  with  crystallised  cen- 
turies. The  bronzes,  the  tapestries,  the  few  ivories,  held 
her  wandering  eyes,  and  Joan  followed  her  about  from 
room  to  room,  and  tried  to  see  what  it  was  she  missed  in 
her,  what  it  was  that  set  her  apart  from  her  fellow-women, 
and  wondered  too — but  checked  herself  wondering — if 
Louis  knew  she  came,  if  Louis  sent  her.  She  knew  he 
could  not  come  himself,  to  Karl's  house,  and  she  set  down 
to  wounded  feeling  and  delicacy  of  conduct  that  which  m 
truth  was  but  part  of  a  scheme,  a  deliberate  plan.  For 
always  she  misjudged  Louis;  how  could  it  have  been 
otherwise  ? 

The  Turners  had  been  sent  over  from  Piccadilly.  They 
hung,  until  Karl  should  come  back,  in  the  picture-gallery, 
in  strange  juxtaposition  to  the  Fragonards.  Joan,  groping 
in  the  dark  after  Aline's  intelligence,  took  her  in  to  see 
them.  She  hardly  paused  before  them,  but  the  amorous 
light  of  the  sun-lit  Fragonards  drew  and  held  and  fasci- 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  371 

nated  Louis's  wife.  The  poor  brain  that  lay  behind  the 
impassive  beauty  of  the  young  patrician  saw,  unrepelled, 
what  the  painter  had  tried  to  convey.  There  was  some- 
thing, unhappily,  that  had  not  died  in  her  when  her  sen- 
tient youth  was  killed. 

!<  They  tell  of  great  joy.  Don't  they  tell  you  of  great 
joy,  and  sunlight?  We  had 'two  at  Hadalstone  in  the 
drawing-room.  A  woman  and  a  man  and  Cupid,  roses, 
and  always  the  wonderful  sunlight.  In  those  others  there 
is  no  life,  only  dead  scenes,  gorges,  waterfalls — "  She 
shivered.  "  I  hear  them  drip.  I  hate  to  hear  water  drip 
monotonously." 

And  Joan,  calling  it  the  "  novelist's  instinct,"  the  "  study 
of  psychology,"  calling  it  anything  but  by  the  right 
name,  listened  to  and  was  endlessly  interested  in  Louis's 
wife. 

"  Do  you  love  pictures  ?"  asked  Aline  of  her. 

"  Only  those  that  are  never  painted,"  she  answered 
vaguely,  seeing  them. 

"  When  I  was  going  to  marry  my  cousin  John,  he 
wished  me  to  be  painted.  I  didn't  want  to  hang  on  a  wall 
and  stare.  I  didn't  want  to  marry  my  cousin  John,  and 
secure  the  succession." 

"And  you  are  glad  that  you  did  marry  Louis?"  haz- 
arded Joan  nervously.  Then  she  hurried  to  another  ques- 
tion, and  would  not  listen  to  the  answer,  and  felt  her 
cheek  burn;  she  knew  she  must  not,  dare  not,  pry  into 
Louis's  married  life. 

But  always  she  had  the  longing  to  see  him,  to  hear  his 
voice  again. 

"  Are  you  going  to  Lady  Herodsfoot  for  Goodwood  ? 
Do  come.  I  want  you  to  come,"  said  Aline  on  another 
day. 

"Are  you  going?"  Joan  asked  guiltily;  for  she  had 
had  an  invitation,  and  was  wavering,  and  dreaded  where 
her  wavering  would  take  her. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  for  the  week.  My  cousin  Violet  is  going, 
and  perhaps  John.  I  would  like  you  to  know  John.  I 


372  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

could  not  marry  John — "     She  begged  Joan  to  come  to 
Goodwood. 

Louis  thought  it  was  he  who  prompted  every  move, 
who  stood  behind,  directing,  guiding  it,  but  it  was  not 
entirely  so.  Somehow  these  two,  Joan,  who  had  never 
had  a  woman  friend,  and  Aline,  who  stood  outside  friend- 
ship, had  a  curious  affinity ;  something  they  held  in  com- 
mon, these  two  women  who  loved  Louis  Althaus.  Aline, 
who  lived  in  silences,  the  gentle  girl  who  had  lost  her 
way  so  early,  and  Joan,  who  talked  all  her  life,  with  pen 
and  ink  sometimes,  but  eloquent  always,  would  have  been 
drawn  together  however  they  had  met.  Joan  told  herself 
this,  constantly. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 


IT  was  a  very  smart  party  Lady  Herodsfoot  had  gath- 
ered together  for  Goodwood.  Jack  and  she  always  knew 
how  to  do  the  right  thing;  the  worst  of  it  was  they  so 
seldom  had  the  wherewithal  to  do  it.  But  Jack  was  very 
easy-going,  and  he  credited  the  story  of  this  wonderful 
bargain  of  a  house,  and  the  bit  of  luck  at  bridge,  and  all 
the  little  miracles  that  made  it  possible  for  him  to  go 
through  the  week  in  style.  The  only  members  of  the  party 
that  made  him  elevate  his  eyebrows  were  Louis  Althaus 
and  Karl  Althaus's  wife;  he  could  not  see  exactly  how 
they  fitted  in.  It  did  not  suit  Lady  Herodsfoot  to  explain 
to  her  Jack  that  one  of  these  two  was  the  party.  She  said 
Lady  Violet  Alncaster  was  coming,  and  so  was  Legoux, 
and  anything  like  a  revival  of  the  flirtation  between  Violet 
and  Louis  Althaus  which  had  amused  them  all  so  much 
a  season  or  two  ago,  might  bring  matters  to  a  point. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  the  Duchess  suggested  it,"  said  easy-going 
Jack,  "  I  suppose  you  could  hardly  say  no.  But  I  should 
think  that  Althaus  would  be  rather  bally  awful  in  a 
houseful  of  people  for  a  week  on  end." 

Lady  Herodsfoot  promised  to  keep  him  out  of  the  way. 
The  extraordinary  part  of  it  was  that  Lady  Herodsfoot 
really  thought  it  was  on  Violet  Alncaster's  account  Louis 
had  taken  the  house,  had  asked  her  to  play  hostess,  and 
made  everything  possible  and  convenient;  for  so  he  had 
meant  her  to  believe.  Once  his  opportunity  had  come, 
once  he  and  Joan  were  under  the  same  roof,  with  a  week 
before  him,  he  had  no  doubt  he  could  put  matters  right 
between  himself  and  Karl.  His  vanity  was  not  cured, 
neither  was  his  hopefulness  for  the  future.  When  Joan 
was  completely  under  his  influence  she  would  work  Karl 

373 


374  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

for  him;  that  she  would  come  under  his  influence  again 
he  read  easily  enough  in  her  nervous  avoidance  of  his 
eyes,  in  her  want  of  self-possession. 

The  Goodwood  house  party  had  all  the  right  ingre- 
dients. There  were  two  duchesses,  with  Lady  Violet 
and  Lord  Legoux,  a  foreign  royalty  from  Germany  and 
an  Indian  Prince,  two  or  three  racing  women  without 
their  inconvenient  husbands,  the  owner  of  "  Saltpetre," 
and  two  other  members  of  the  Jockey  Club,  a  couple  of 
the  racing  women's  addenda,  and  the  Althauses.  Jack 
Herodsfoot  was  a  capital  host. 

Louis  had  taken  the  largest  and  best  house  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood ;  there  was  a  chef  from  the  "  Savoy,"  and 
there -were  a  couple  of  four-in-hands  for  driving  to  the 
course.  He  had  a  big  stake  to  play  for,  and  although  he 
was  not  reckless  in  money  matters  as  a  rule,  he  made  an 
exception  here.  People  talked,  of  course,  people  talked, 
about  the  Herodsfoot  income,  and  the  Herodsfoot 
menage;  but  the  Indian  was  conspicuous  in  attention  to 
the  hostess,  and  Louis  kept  himself  discreetly  in  the  back- 
ground. It  was  the  second  day  before  Joan  arrived. 

She  was  incongruous  there,  it  struck  her  so  the  very 
first  evening  when  the  gabble  at  the  dinner-table  was  all 
of  racing,  and  the  gabble  in  the  drawing-room  followed  it 
closely,  and  four  tables  of  bridge  were  started  as  soon  as 
the  men  came  up.  She  had  no  place  there,  she  watched 
them  a  short  time  from  her  vantage  coign  on  the  sofa, 
then  rose  to  retire,  thinking  to  escape  inconspicuously. 
The  window  offered  the  easiest  exit — through  the  French 
window  to  the  garden  she  slipped. 

But  when  she  had  stepped  through  the  window,  and 
was  in  the  moonlit  shadows  of  the  old  garden,  her  foot- 
steps lingered.  It  was  an  exquisite  night,  the  heat  of 
the  day  had  turned  to  cool  languor  and  restf  ulness ;  still- 
ness was  in  the  depth  of  the  dark  green  trees,  the  air  was 
odorous  with  the  breath  of  exhausted  flowers. 

It  was  where  the  trellised  rose-beds  gave  on  to  the 
shelving  bank  of  green  turf  that  she  saw  Louis ;  she  stood 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  375 

still,  she  saw  him !  But  now  they  were  alone,  with  only 
the  moon  and  the  broken  shadows  on  the  path,  and  the 
stillness.  She  stood,  uncertain,  but  he  made  a  quick  step 
forward. 

"  At  last,  at  last,  Joan,"  he  said  again,  and  would  have 
caught  her  to  him,  but  she  put  out  both  hands  to  push 
him  back.  "  No,  no — Louis !"  He  would  not  let  her 
hold  herself  away  from  him ;  not  her  fear,  not  her  reluc- 
tance, but  that  which  was  at  the  back  of  both,  he  knew 
when  he  drew  her  to  him. 

"  My  Joan,"  he  said,  and  kissed  her  lips — no,  not  kissed, 
he  rested  his  on  hers,  and  had  his  arms  about  her,  and 
made  her  remember  what  they  had  been  to  each  other. 
For  one  obliterating  moment  nothing  was  real  but  his 
arms,  and  his  dear  breath,  soft  lips,  soft  eyes ;  everything 
else  was  forgotten,  and  she  only  felt  she  had  found  life 
again. 

It  was  only  a  moment,  a  flower  caught  by  a  drowning 
woman  as  the  rushing  stream  hurries  her  to  destruction. 
He  met  her  reaction,  that  was  Louis's  talent,  met  the  re- 
coil and  revolt. 

"  Leave  me  your  hand,  Joan,  there  is  no  harm  in  that 
— leave  me  your  hand,"  he  pleaded,  and  though  hers 
trembled,  he  held  it. 

"  Don't  think  I  would  hurt  you.  You  ought  not  to 
have  left  me,  you  know  you  ought  not  to  have  left  me, 
but  I  am  not  going  to  reproach  you."  She  left  her  hand 
in  his ;  how  little  he  had  altered !  "  I  searched  every- 
where for  you ;  I've  been  wretched  without  you,  miser- 
able. You  ought  to  have  thought  of  how  I  should  suffer. 
You  are  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  cared  for.  You 
have  spoiled  my  life ;  but  I  don't  care  for  that.  I  don't 
mind  being  ruined !" 

"  Ruined !"    The  word  startled  the  echo  from  her. 

"  Don't  you  know  that  Karl  has  flung  me  out,  dis- 
carded me  ?  I  don't  care,  but  Joan " 

"  But  he  promised  me " 

"  Well,  never  mind  what  he  has  promised  you — he  has 


376  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

broke  me,  broke  me.  But,  Joan,  it  isn't  that ;  let  that  go. 
Why  do  you  want  to  take  your  hand  away?  Oh! 
Joan,"  and  now  he  had  caught  her  to  him  again,  "  I've 
been  so  miserable  without  you,  so  miserable " 

How  could  she  resist  him? 

He  did  not  woo  her,  he  only  reminded  her,  and  be- 
wildered her,  and  begged  to  her. 

"  I  know  you  are  thinking  of  your  duty  to  Karl,  but 
you  owe  me  something.  You  knew  nothing  about  love 
until  I  taught  you.  You  could  never  love  anybody  but 
me,  could  you,  Joan?" 

And  indeed  she  never  had. 

"  I  tried  all  I  could  to  find  you,  but  Karl  was  urging 
me  about  securing  the  Hayward  interest.  He  forced  my 
hand.  Joan,  you  know  I  tried  to  find  you." 

"  Leave  me  go,  Louis ;  don't  hold  me,  leave  me  go." 

"  I  won't  touch  you.  But  don't  tell  me  you've  forgotten 
me,  that  I  am  nothing  to  you  now,  that  Karl  has  robbed 
me  of  you  too." 

Every  other  feeling  and  emotion  in  her  was  subordi- 
nated to  the  wish  to  tell  him  that  Karl  had  not  robbed 
him  of  her.  Karl  was  the  better  man,  the  better  lover, 
but  it  trembled  on  her  lips  to  tell  him  that  she  was  still 
Louis's  Joan. 

"  I  will  never  interfere  between  you,  but  you  must 
let  me  see  you  sometimes.  I  must  have  you  to  talk  to." 

"  Louis,  it's  all  wrong.  I  can't  bear  it,  let  me  go." 
Her  voice  was  faint.  Never  had  she  been  able  to  resist 
him,  never,  she  had  only  been  able  to  flee  from  him. 

"  Although  you  left  me  like  that,  I  forgave  you  at 
once,  immediately.  I  never  bore  you  any  malice.  I  knew 
you  did  what  you  thought  right.  I  did  think,  I  own  I 
thought,  you  ought  to  have  let  me  be  the  judge.  And 
look  what  happened.  We  got  the  farm  all  the  same. 
But  I  swear  I  never  left  off  caring  for  you,  Joan.  I  must, 
I  must,"  he  held  her  to  him,  "  I  must  hear  you  say  that 
you  have  never  cared  for  anybody  but  me." 

And  she  never  had. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  377 

That  was  the  danger  of  it.  The  man's  voice,  though 
her  brain  rejected  his  arguments,  always  touched  her 
heart,  his  presence  always  moved  her  senses,  her  defences 
were  all  down  before  him,  and  he  saw  into  every  weak, 
unguarded  place. 

That  night  in  the  dark  garden  he  made  her  promise, 
he  wrung  from  her  a  promise,  that  she  would  not  avoid 
him,  that  she  would  let  him  talk  to  her,  that  they  should 
discuss  the  position.  He  moved  her  by  his  desire  for 
reconciliation  with  Karl,  by  telling  her  of  his  love  for  her, 
and  his  unhappiness  without  her,  he  moved  her  through 
all  her  starving  womanliness  and  faithfulness  to  him. 
There  had  been  no  other  man  in  her  life.  He  moved  her 
by  the  fervour  with  which  he  told  her  they  would  not 
wrong  Karl,  would  only  talk,  and  be  together  sometimes, 
and  wrong  nobody. 

That  was  the  first  evening.  Her  dreams  were  broken 
that  night.  She  wandered  with  naked  feet  on  rocky 
ground;  hanging  precipices,  gloom  and  danger  were 
around  her,  and  she  heard  Karl  calling  to  her,  she  strug- 
gled on  toward  his  voice,  stumbled  and  fell,  struggled  on 
again,  bleeding,  and  ever  desperate  and  crying  as  she 
went,  but  ever  stumbling  and  falling,  then  she  woke  to 
find  she  had  been  crying  in  her  sleep,  and  her  pillow  was 
wet.  Three  times  she  dreamed  that  dream,  it  was  all  the 
night  held  for  her. 

The  Goodwood  party  flirted  and  raced,  played  bridge 
and  talked  scandal.  Soon  it  was  smilingly  recognised  that 
Louis  Althaus  was  very  attentive  to  his  sister-in-law ; 
yet  Aline  clung  to  Joan,  and  refused  to  understand  at 
what  Violet  hinted,  and  other  people  smiled.  And  Louis 
manoeuvred  for  short  interviews,  and  pressed  his  claims, 
and  made  her  life  bitter  sweet,  and  poignant.  But  that 
they  "  would  not  wrong  Karl"  was  the  phrase  their  inter- 
views heard  oftenest.  So  the  week  sped  along,  until 
Friday  came.  To-morrow  the  party  would  break  up, 
to-morrow  Joan  could  get  free,  go  back  to  Karl's  house, 
and  be  alone  with  her  memories  there. 


378  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

But  on  the  last  day  of  the  races  a  soaking  rain  drove 
the  party  to  an  early  return,  and,  whilst  some  of  them 
sought  their  bedrooms  to  repair  their  bedraggled  condi- 
tion, to  preen  their  feathers  and  dry  their  curls,  and  others 
had  found  that  daylight  was  no  bar  to  the  joys  of  a 
"  heart"  call,  and  in  the  gaiety  of  their  afternoon  spirits 
,were  declaring  "  withouts"  on  spade  hands,  Lady  Violet 
prompted  by  some  malevolence,  some  lingering  spite  about 
Louis,  followed  Aline  to  her  bedroom,  and  pointed  her 
wit  in  such  a  manner  that  it  precipitated  the  inevitable 
catastrophe. 

"  Let  us  have  tea  up  here,  Aline.  Send  Susan  down 
for  it." 

She  had  followed  Aline  into  her  bedroom,  somewhat 
rudely  displacing  Joan,  who  had  had  the  same  intention. 
Joan  hesitated,  then  turned  her  lingering  steps  away,  per- 
haps guiltily  glad. 

'*'  I  can't  play  bridge  in  the  day-time,  and  if  I  sleep 
now  I  shall  be  awake  half  the  night,  so  I  thought  I  would 
come  in  for  a  gossip,"  began  Violet. 

Then  followed  the  little  talk  about  horses  that  made 
Aline  yawn,  then  about  dress,  which  woke  her  up  again, 
and  then  about  people. 

"  Who  made  the  Herodsfoots  invite  your  sister-in-law 
here  ?  She  is  awfully  out  of  it." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  asked  her  to  say  yes  to  her  invita- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  you  asked  her  to  say  yes !"  Violet  laughed  ma- 
liciously. "So  that  is  the  way  of  it,  is  it?  Have  you 
and  John  ever  met  since  you  chucked  him  overboard?" 

"  Not  until  yesterday." 

"  When  he  came  up  to  the  coach,  and  they  asked  him 
to  join  our  party  this  evening?'* 

"  Yes." 

"  That  was  Louis  Althaus's  idea,  I  suppose.'* 

Aline  hesitated.    "  I  don't  know." 

"  What  are  you  playing  at,  you  two?  Did  you  want  to 
meet  him?" 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  379 

"I?    Oh,  no." 

"  I  never  asked  you  about  your  elopement.  How  did  it 
come  about?" 

"My — elopement?    My  elopement?" 

"  Yes,  your  elopement.  Why  did  you  chuck  up  John 
in  such  a  hurry  and  bolt  with  Louis  Althaus?" 

"  I — I  don't  know." 

"  If  you  fell  in  love  with  him,  why  don't  you  want  to 
keep  him  ?" 

"To  keep  him?" 

"  Yes.    Why  do  you  let  him  take  on  his  brother's  wife  ?" 

"  His  brother's  wife?" 

"  Oh,  don't  be  such  a  fool,  Aline.  You  must  know  what 
I  mean.  Everybody's  talking  about  it.  They're  together, 
morning,  noon,  and  night." 

"Joan?" 

"Joan?"  repeated  Violet  mockingly.  "Really,  Aline, 
sometimes  I  think  you  must  put  it  on,  that  you  cannot  be 
such  a  fool  as  you  look.  You  must  have  noticed  them 
during  the  last  four  days,  seeking  every  opportunity  to 
be  together.  If  they  are  not  on  the  drag,  and  they  have 
only  once  been  with  us,  they  find  room  in  the  dog-cart ; 
if  one  has  a  headache,  the  other  stays  at  home;  and 
evening  after  evening  they  moon  about  the  garden  to- 
gether. You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  not  noticed  it. 
Where  are  your  eyes  ?" 

"  Joan  and  Louis,"  repeated  Aline  more  stupidly  than 
e/er. 

"  Yes,  '  Joan  and  Louis.'  You  don't  suppose  he  would 
be  above  it,  do  you?  You  don't  look  upon  your  husband 
as  a  saint,  I  suppose.  But  mind,"  the  little  vixen  said, 
leaning  back  in  her  chair  luxuriously,  "  that's  the  differ- 
ence between  him  and  one  of  us.  He  chooses  his  brother's 
wife  for  his  carrying  on;  it's  playing  it  too  low  down, 
you  know.  I  suppose  they  have  got  a  standard,  those  out- 
siders, but  it's  a  different  one  from  ours.  There  is  some- 
thing about  Louis  Althaus — I  don't  say  there  isn't;  as 
you  know,  he  and  I  were  very  good  pals  once  upon  a 


380  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

time.  But  I  should  never  have  thought  of  marrying  him. 
That's  where  you  took  my  breath  away.  I'd  as  soon  have 
thought  of  marrying  a  crossing-sweeper.  That  is,  I  mean 
if  I  wasn't  broke,  or  in  any  sort  of  a  mess.  Were  you 
in  any  sort  of  mess  ever  ?" 

"  I  ?"    But  of  course  she  flushed. 

"  Yes,  you !  I  know  Constantia  looked  after  you  like 
a  dragon  from  morning  to  night.  But  what  on  earth 
should  have  made  you  throw  over  John  and  run  away 
with  the  crossing-sweeper,  I  mean,  with  Louis  Althaus,  if 
you  were  not  in  a  mess,  is  more  than  I  can  understand. 
If  John  does  come  here,  do  you  think  you  and  he  will 
foregather?  Do  you  think,  if  he  sees  your  husband 
running  after  another  woman,  he  will  return — well,  I 
won't  say  to  his  first  love,  because  I  rather  fancy  I  was 
that,  but  to  his  second?" 

"  Violet,"  said  Aline  earnestly,  standing  by  the  easy 
chair  and  laying  her  hand  on  her  cousin's  arm,  "  I  can- 
not quite  follow  what  you  are  saying;  you  know  I  am 
not  as  quick  as  you  are — what  do  you  mean  about  Louis 
and  about  Joan?"  Violet  laughed  at  her. 

"  I  mean,  my  dear,"  mockingly,  "  I  mean  that  your 
husband  and  your  sister-in-law  are  engaged  in  a  very 
pretty  little  flirtation  together,  always  supposing  it's  not' 
more  than  a  flirtation — and  I  want  to  know  whether  you 
are  going  to  console  yourself  with  John ;  and  the  reason 
I  want  to  know  is " 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Aline  impatiently.  "  I 
am  not  so  simple  that  I  don't  know,  that  I  have  not  always 
known,  you  like  John."  And  then  Violet  flushed  too  a 
little  and  said: 

"Like  John?  Oh,  rubbish!  We've  always  been  pals, 
one  must  have  somebody  to  quarrel  with." 

Aline  brushed  it  impatiently  aside.  "  But  what  do  you 
mean  about  Joan  and  Louis  ?" 

"  Are  you  in  love  with  him  still?  asked  Violet  curiously. 

Aline  flushed  at  that,  but  made  no  reply.  She  cross- 
examined  her  cousin  abruptly,  impatiently.  Lightly  and 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  381 

jeeringly  Violet,  nevertheless,  managed  to  make  her  un- 
derstand that  it  had  been  noticed  in  the  house  that  Joan 
and  Louis  were  engaged  in  what  seemed  to  that  light, 
superficial  crowd  as  a  flirtation. 

Neither  the  word  "  flirtation"  nor  the  substance  of  it 
was  understood  by  Aline.  Her  experience  was  as  limited 
as  her  mental  capacity ;  love-making  had  only  one  mean- 
ing to  her,  and  Joan — it  seemed  impossible  to  connect 
Joan  and  Louis  in  that  way.  She  had  no  one  to  whom  she 
could  speak  of  the  dreadful  thing  that  Violet  had  told  her. 

The  tired,  noisy  party  who  had  played  bridge  all  that 
wet  afternoon,  played  again  all  that  pouring  evening. 
Joan  had  not  come  down  to  dinner,  she  had  a  headache, 
she  stayed  in  her  room.  Aline  went  up  to  her,  sat  by  the 
bedside,  put  her  head  beside  her  on  the  pillow,  tried  to 
nurse  her  and  take  care  of  her,  comfort  and  make  up  to 
her  in  some  vague  way  for  the  horrible  things  that  Vio- 
let had  said.  But  Aline  did  not  soothe  away  Joan's  head- 
ache, or  make  her  any  happier.  Neither  the  handkerchief 
dipped  in  eau  de  Cologne,  nor  the  darkened  room,  nor 
the  timid  ministrations  of  Louis's  wife,  helped  to  make 
Joan's  pain  less. 

For  Aline  talked. 

"  You  don't  like  this  noisy  party,  do  you  ?  you  haven't 
been  at  home  or  happy  here.  They  are  not  nice,  not 
really  nice,  but  they  are  all  going  away  to-morrow,  all 
of  them.  Louis  has  taken  the  house  on  for  a  few  days ; 
he  thinks  I  ought  to  have  quiet.  You'll  stay  with  us, 
won't  you?  It  will  be  so  nice,  just  us  three.  Perhaps 
Louis  will  go  to  town  on  Monday,  then  we'll  be  alone 
together,  you  and  I;  you  won't  mind  being  alone  with' 
me,  will  you,  Joan?  You  don't  mind  because  I  am  not 
clever,  or  like  those  others.  You  are  fond  of  me,  are  not 
you,  Joan?  I  always  think  you  are."  She  nestled  up  to 
her,  and  Joan  put  her  arm  around  her,  and  answered  her 
mutely,  and  felt  her  eyelids  smart  with  the  tears  that  rose 
as  she  lay  with  her  arms  round  this  poor  wife  of  Louis.' 

Aline  had  the  mind  of  a  little  child,  and  the  nature  of 


382  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

a  little  child.  This  grown-up  person,  so  much  wiser  than 
she,  was  in  pain  or  trouble.  Some  one  had  hurt  her,  that 
was  all  Aline  had  gathered  from  Violet,  some  one  had  tried 
to  hurt  Joan ;  so  she  would  cuddle  up  to  her,  and  comfort 
her  and  make  her  smile  and  look  happy  again.  Louis's 
wife  had  the  sweet  ways  of  a  child  with  poor  Joan,  who 
suffered  under  the  petting,  and  was  silently  moved  and 
well-nigh  desperate  through  it. 

What  had  Louis  said  that  afternoon,  when,  turned  away 
from  the  refuge  of  Aline's  bedroom,  Joan  had  been  met  by 
him,  had  gone  with  him  into  the  library,  and  been  weak 
.with  him. 

Everything  about  him  was  sweet  to  her,  his  eyes  and 
lips,  his  arms  in  which  she  had  so  often  rested,  his  shoul- 
der that  her  head  had  pressed,  the  crisp  curls,  tinted  now 
with  grey,  that  curled  into  his  neck,  his  small  warm  hands. 
She  loved  him,  perhaps,  as  men  love  women,  and  he  had 
beauties  that  men  see  in  women,  rarely  women  in  men. 
His  ears  were  set  flat  to  his  head,  beautiful  ears,  often 
her  kisses  had  lain  behind  them. 

And  she  had  been  weak  with  him. 

She  had  belonged  to  him  in  a  way  that  banishes  a 
woman's  greatest  and  most  powerful  protector.  The  man 
had  made  her  his,  with  infinite  difficulty,  perhaps — with 
the  breaking  down  of  the  barriers  one  by  one,  with  tender- 
ness and  with  tears,  with  prayers  and  protestations,  per- 
haps with  gentle  force,  but  he  had  made  her  his.  And 
before  him  all  her  fortifications  were  down.  Woman's 
fortification  is  not  her  virtue — for  woman's  virtue  is  the 
same  as  man's  virtue,  no  more,  no  less — her  fortification, 
her  bulwark,  is  her  modesty;  and  Louis  had  coaxed  and 
wheedled,  sacked  and  undermined,  left  it  fallen  and  ruined 
before  his  exactions  and  encroachments,  made  her  utterly 
defenceless  before  him,  and  been  satisfied  with  nothing 
short  of  this. 

And  to-day  he  had  confused  her  with  argument,  weak- 
ened her  with  tears,  tempted  her  with  kisses,  made  her 
promise — 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  383 

What  had  he  made  her  promise? 

To-night,  with  Aline's  soft  cheek  against  hers,  Aline's 
ministrations  about  her,  Aline's  childish  love  and  confi- 
dence echoing  in  her  ears,  how  could  she  remember  what 
he  had  made  her  promise! 

"  You  will  stay  on  with  us,  do  stay  with  us,  Joan." 
Aline  pleaded,  and  all  through  a  sleepless,  feverish  night, 
after  Louis's  wife  had  left  her,  two  voices  pleaded. 

"  What  harm  should  we  do  to  Karl  ?  You  will  let  me 
come  to  you.  Joan,  I  am  ill,  I  am  quite  ill  with  longing 
for  you,  I  can't  sleep " 

Louis's  speeches  came  back  to  her  disjointed,  her  ears, 
her  heart  were  full  of  them ;  her  throbbing  pulses  echoed 
them! 

On  Saturday  the  party  broke  up. 

Joan  and  Aline  watched  the  departing  guests  from  the 
window,  the  brake  full  of  chattering  women,  the 
brougham  for  the  Duchess  of  Templegrove  and  the  Duch- 
ess of  Alncaster,  the  dogcart  with  the  impatient  horse 
champing  at  its  bit ;  all  the  cheerful  confusion  and  adieus. 
It  had  been  decided,  it  seemed  to  Joan  it  had  been  decided 
for  her,  that  she  was  to  remain  behind,  that  she  was  not 
to  go  with  the  rest  of  them.  Her  maid  had  not  packed ; 
there  was  no  place  reserved  for  her  in  the  brake.  After 
yesterday's  rain  the  sun  shone  brightly  on  the  scene,  the 
ground  was  all  cut  up  by  the  horses,  the  metal  of  their 
harness  shone.  Lady  Herodsfoot  had  a  blue  marabout 
feather  in  her  hat,  the  bugles  on  Violet's  stout  mother 
gleamed  like  the  harness  of  the  horses.  Joan  noted  a 
hundred  little  things  in  colour  juxta-position — the  yellow 
gravel,  the  yellow  silk  frou-frou  of  some  one's  petticoat, 
a  clump  of  yellow  sun-flowers,  then,  some  notes  of  scar- 
let, poppies  and  the  horses'  head-bands,  Lord  Legoux's 
button-hole,  given  him  in  derision,  the  same  flowers  as 
Lady  Violet's  waist-belt;  small  things  to  notice,  but,  as 
she  watched  at -the  windows  whilst  the  party  drove  away, 
they  aroused  vague,  momentary  interest. 

And  now  they  were  all  gone. 


384  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Louis  came  in  from  the  hall. 

"  At  last." 

She  had  heard  him  say  that  before,  but  less  lightly; 
she  knew  his  limited  vocabulary. 

"  At  last  we've  got  rid  of  them,  now  we  can  begin  to 
enjoy  ourselves.  Aline,  did  you  say  good-bye  to  your 
aunt,  I  saw  her  looking  round  for  you?" 

"  I  forget — yes,  I  think  I  did.  She  kissed  me,  some  of 
her  beads  came  off  on  my  lace  blouse.  Look!" 

There  was  a  tear  in  it,  and  an  entangled  bead  or  two, 
Louis  laughed. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  want  to  change  it.  We  shan't 
do  anything  until  after  lunch." 

Joan  would  have  left  the  room  with  her,  but  Louis,  di- 
vining her  intention,  intercepted  her. 

"  What !  Frightened  of  me  ?"  he  said,  when  they  were 
alone.  His  smile,  reminiscent,  satirical,  challenging,  was 
a  smile  that  hurt  her.  Nevertheless  it  was  a  smile  that 
sat  on  the  lips  she  loved.  "  Don't  you  want  to  be  alone 
with  me?  What  a  strange  little  woman  you  are.  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you  are  frightened  of  me,  Joan  ?" 

She  began  to  answer,  with  strange  stammering  words : 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  am,  or  of  myself." 

"  Nonsense !"  He  put  his  arms  about  her.  "  Whom 
are  we  going  to  hurt?  What  a  fuss  you  are  making. 
One  would  think  I  had  never  been  in  your  room  before. 
What  an  extraordinary  little  woman  you  are." 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead,"  she  said,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  You  don't  mean  it,  don't  snuggle  your  head  down 
there."  For,  of  course,  she  had  not  disengaged  herself 
from  him.  "  You  are  spoiling  my  coat.  And  you  know 
we  are  going  to  be  happy  together.  There,  don't  be 
silly,  have  you  ever  cared  for  anybody  else  in  your  life? 
Of  course  you  haven't.  Tell  me,  has  there  ever  been  any- 
body but  me  ?"  And  he  drew  the  oft-told  answer  through 
her  trembling  lips. 

That  was  how  Aline  saw  them.  For,  when  she  got  up 
to  her  room,  Susan  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and,  of 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  385 

course,  she  could  not  change  her  blouse  without  assist- 
ance. She  came  back,  therefore,  and  saw  her  husband 
with  his  arms  round  Joan,  and  his  head  bent  lovingly 
over  her.  Joan  had  been  crying.  When  he  hurriedly 
released  her,  and  paled,  and  began  to  make  some  ino> 
herent  excuses,  Joan  went  on  crying.  So  it  was  to  her 
Aline  went. 

"  What  is  it,  Joan?  What's  the  matter,  Joan?"  And 
Louis's  arms  were  replaced  by  Aline's. 

Louis  slunk  out,  leaving  the  two  women  together ;  he 
thought  Joan  could  compass  an  explanation  good  enough 
for  Aline.  He  damned  the  interruption,  but  lighted  a 
cigarette  and  got  his  hat  and  sauntered  into  the  garden, 
making  sure  it  would  be  all  right.  It  was  wonderful  how 
he  understood  women.  Joan  had  made  a  terrible  fuss 
about  her  loyalty  to  Karl,  but  he  had  soon  shown  her  that 
it  was  himself,  not  Karl,  she  had  to  think  about.  He 
thought  of  Karl,  as  he  sauntered  in  the  shade  and  threw 
away  his  cigarette,  and  let  his  mouth  harden  into  mean 
lines,  remembering  Karl  had  knocked  him  down,  had  sent 
back  his  letters,  and  cut  him  off  from  the  firm ;  only  these 
things  he  remembered. 

Meanwhile,  Aline  asked  Joan  why  she  cried,  and  Joan 
tried  to  answer  her. 

"  Because  I  am  wicked,  Aline ;  because  I  can't  be  faith- 
ful to  the  man  who  has  been  so  good  to  me ;  because  the 
very  bricks  of  the  house  would  cry  out  if  they  knew, — 
because.  Oh !  because  I  am  so  wicked."  She  burst 
into  fresh  tears,  and  flung  herself  onto  the  sofa,  and 
sobbed. 

"  Lady  Violet  said  you  were  wicked,"  Aline  answered 
slowly,  in  perplexity.  "  At  least  that  is  what  I  think  she 
meant.  I  didn't  believe  her.  What  have  you  done? 
Joan,  why  don't  you  pray  about  it?  I  pray  sometimes, 
God  seems  to  listen  now;  he  used  not  to.  But  now  I 
pray  I  may  be  kept  from  harm,  and  nothing  ever  happens 
to  me.  Shall  I  pray  for  you,  Joan?"  She  knelt  down 
by  her  side.  Joan  sobbed  on  with  averted  head,  and  the 

25 


386  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

simple  one  went  back  to  what  that  frivolous  governess 
had  taught  her  in  happy  childhood,  and  repeated  the 
Lord's  prayer. 

' '  Lead  us  not  into  evil,  but  deliver  us  from  tempta- 
tion, for  thine  is  the  power '  " 


"  Oh  !  don't  Aline,  don't,  I  can't  bear  it- 


It  was  unbearable.  She  gave  the  other  a  little  caress, 
but  it  was  unbearable,  unthinkable. 

"  What  did  Lady  Violet  say  ?    Tell  me,  tell  me  quickly." 

"  Are  you  angry  ?" 

"No.    What  did  she  say?" 

Aline  could  not  get  her  thoughts  together  as  quickly 
as  Joan  wanted. 

"  About  you — and  about  Louis  ?" 

It  was  unbearable.  And  it  was  a  lie,  a  cruel  lie.  She 
had  done  nothing,  nothing  yet  to  justify  any  woman  call- 
ing her  wicked.  She  said  so  passionately ;  and  Aline  told 
her  she  believed  it,  she  knew  it. 

"  You  won't  be  wicked,  Joan,  will  you  ?  You  won't 
ever  be  wicked?  It  makes  everything  slip  about,  and 
away  from  me,  and  frightens  me."  Her  own  words 
frightened  her,  and  set  her  trembling,  for  she  was  not 
quite  as  other  people,  and  she  grew  white,  and  some  in- 
ward terror  seemed  to  seize  upon  her;  she  was  palsied 
and  grey  and  shaking,  and  she  frightened  Joan  in  her 
turn,  who  had  to  rouse  herself  and  forget  her  own  trou- 
ble, and  chafe  her  hands,  and  get  her  warm,  and  give 
her  air,  and  altogether  exert  herself  to  check  what  seemed 
likely  to  culminate  in  some  sort  of  a  seizure.  Again  and 
again  Aline  repeated,  in  frantic  excitement :  "  You  won't 
be  wicked,  Joan;  you  won't  be  wicked?"  and  clung  to 
her,  and  begged  of  her.  And  Joan  promised,  promised  at 
first  hurriedly,  and  then  seriously,  and  finally  solemnly, 
and  so  in  the  end  reassured  her. 

Joan  and  Louis  lunched  together.  Aline  was  ex- 
hausted, Joan  had  given  her  into  Susan's  keeping,  and 
explained  she  had  been  over-excited,  hysterical.  Susan 
had  had  her  like  that  before,  and  understood  what  to  do, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  387 

had,  in  fact,  a  draught  that  she  gave  under  the  circum- 
stances. In  her  own  way  Susan  was  devoted  to  Aline; 
it  was  a  way  that  had  made  the  girl  Louis  Althaus's 
wife,  but,  since  marriage  was  decreed  for  her,  was  not 
Louis  as  fit  as  John  ?  So  it  seemed  to  Susan,  and,  never- 
theless, she  cared  for  Aline.  And  now  the  girl  was  lying 
down,  calmed,  and  slowly  recovering  under  her  care. 

Joan  was  very  quiet  during  that  lunch,  her  thoughts 
were  abstracted,  her  words  few.  Louis  watched  her  and 
felt  satisfied.  He  could  not  question  her  before  the  men. 
He  read  her  short  answers,  her  abstracted  thoughts,  as 
he  wished  to  read  them.  He  had  no  misgivings. 

But  Joan  had  seen  herself  reflected  from  other  eyes; 
and  she  had  made  a  solemn  promise.  Dimly  she  began 
to  see  her  way,  a  dread  way,  but  the  only  one.  Seeing  it 
filmed  her  eyes,  and  made  them  misty,  made  a  loud  sound 
in  her  ears  as  of  breakers  on  a  gaunt  shore,  and  a  throb- 
bing as  of  an  engine  getting  up  steam  for  a  long  journey. 
She  would  not  look  at  Louis ;  nothing  must  stay  her  from 
her  journey.  His  voice  was  muffied  among  the  noises 
that  she  heard. 

An  hour  after  lunch  she  spent  in  her  own  room,  on 
her  knees.  But  she  found  no  help ;  for,  between  her  and 
help  stood  Louis,  with  his  Mephistophelean  smile,  remind- 
ing her,  always  reminding  her,  of  what  she  had  been; 
and  his  lips  were  thin,  and  his  smile  was  cruel,  but  she 
loved  him.  With  his  wide  shoulders,  and  well-set  head, 
apd  dark  eyes,  he  stood  between  her  and  her  prayers. 
So,  at  the  end  of  the  hour,  she  rose  from  her  knees ;  her 
legs  trembled  under  her,  and  she  did  not  see  very  clearly 
before  her.  Everything  was  darkened,  and  she  saw 
through  a  mist;  but  the  path  that  she  must  follow  was 
deadly  clear. 

They  met  for  tea  at  four.  Aline  had  rested,  had  re- 
covered, had  forgotten  all  that  had  passed,  but  her  eyes 
sought  Joan's  wistfully;  and,  reassuringly,  if  wearily, 
Joan  smiled  back  on  her. 

"  It's  all  right,  dear,"  she  whispered  to  her,  hurriedly. 


388  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

"  All  right,  have  no  fear."  For  Louis's  step  was  at  the 
door. 

They  went  out  driving  together,  all  three  of  them. 
For  so  Louis  had  arranged. 

The  day  was  warm  and  sunny  about  them,  with  blue 
sky  overhead ;  little  white  clouds,  big  white  clouds,  moun- 
tains of  white  clouds  swept  the  horizon.  All  the  country 
was  richly  green,  all  the  trees  were  thick  with  leaves,  all 
the  fields  golden  with  heavy  swaying  grain,  the  full  sum- 
mer of  the  year  was  heavy  about  them. 

They  drove.  Louis  talked — of  the  scenery,  of  the 
racing,  and  of  the  party.  He  exalted  himself,  and  sang 
his  own  praises;  it  exhilarates  a  man  to  be  in  the  com- 
pany of  women  who  love  him.  How  well  he  had  ar- 
ranged everything!  He  dwelt  on  the  work  that  the  sta- 
bles had  put  out,  he  explained  his  organising  powers,  and 
he  did  not  disdain  to  tell  them  what  the  week  had  cost 
him. 

And  both  women  were  silent. 

Joan  hardly  listened  to  him,  but  he  filled  her  eyes. 
How  he  eclipsed  the  rough,  unwieldily  figured  Karl !  His 
face  was  more  than  handsome ;  through  the  clear  pallor 
of  his  skin  one  saw  the  superb  health,  saw  it  too  in  his 
easy  grace,  in  the  movement  of  his  sleek  limbs.  His  dark 
eyes  were  beautiful,  and  his  little  well-set  ears.  He  took 
his  hat  off  more  than  once  that  the  gentle  summer  breeze 
should  cool  him;  how  fine  the  sweep  of  the  dark  hair 
from  the  white  forehead,  from  the  straight  pencilled 
brows.  When  he  saw  her  looking  at  him,  he  smiled ;  in 
that  narrowing  jaw,  beneath  those  thin  lips,  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  even  teeth,  his  pointed  restless  tongue; 
she  averted  her  eyes,  felt  the  sudden  rise  of  a  sob  in  her 
throat,  and  knew  how  he  moved  her. 

Joan,  later  on,  in  her  white  evening  dress,  with  pearls 
round  her  slender  throat,  diamonds  sparkling  in  her  hair, 
threw  off  for  a  short  space  all  that  was  troubling  her. 
There  was  a  red  spot  on  each  of  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
shone.  Louis  looked  at  her  often,  and  though  her  eyes 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  389 

fell  before  his,  and  there  were  no  answering  glances  nor 
smiles,  he  thought  he  understood  her  gay  mood,  and  was 
triumphant  and  cynical  and  impatient.  Aline  sat  at  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  her  eyes  wandered  uneasily,  her 
hands  and  face  twitched  a  little,  for,  as  the  dinner  pro- 
gressed, Joan  grew  more  and  more  unlike  the  Joan  she 
knew. 

"  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die,"  was 
the  toast  she  pledged  Louis  across  the  table.  "  You  re- 
member, I  always  quote  when  I  leave  off  thinking,"  she 
said  lightly. 

"  So  you've  left  off  thinking?  Well,  that's  one  good 
thing  done.  Women  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  think, 
there  ought  to  be  a  law  against  it,  they  always  think  the 
wrong  things;  it's  the  way  they  are  made.  Here's  to 
Cape  Town  and  the  old  days.  Fill  Mrs.  Althaus's  glass. 
Do  you  remember  Government  Gardens,  Joan?" 

Did  she  remember!  She  remembered  everything  of 
the  old  days. 

"  How  mad,  and  bad,  and  glad  they  were,  but  oh! 
how  they  were  sweet,"  she  quoted. 

"  Plenty  more  where  they  came  from." 

At  that  she  laughed  hysterically. 

To  Louis  she  seemed  the  old  Joan  that  evening,  gay 
and  young,  pelting  him  with  old  phrases  and  the  old 
quotations.  The  tarnished  treasury  of  her  happy  days 
was  ransacked  to-night,  and  the  baubles  flung  out,  in 
•recklessness,  and  an  anguish  of  fevered  haste.  He  saw 
no  tarnish  on  the  baubles,  he  saw  only  the  glitter. 

To  Louis,  Aline  at  the  bottom  of  the  table  added  a  zest 
to  each  allusion,  and  a  savour  to  what  lay  before  him. 
Joan's  feelings,  too,  were  poignantly  affected  by  Aline's 
presence. 

Joan,  in  this  mood,  so  light — Louis  thought  her  mood 
light — careless,  a  trifle  hard  and  shameless — seemed  more 
and  more  desirable  to  him.  The  hardness  would  die  out, 
he  knew  how  to  move  her,  how  to  work  upon  her;  al- 
ready he  felt  the  little  flushes  of  his  coming  triumph. 


390  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

Now  he  encouraged  her  to  talk,  made  her  fill  her  glass 
again  and  again,  urged  her  with  champagne.  The  dinner 
was  all  too  short. 

When  the  women  went  into  the  drawing-room,  Joan's 
cheeks  were  still  redder,  her  eyes  were  brighter.  She 
rattled  on  a  little  to  Aline,  but  Aline  was  frightened  of 
her,  shuddered  from  her.  Yet,  when  they  parted  they 
kissed  each  other,  those  two  women.  Joan's  kiss  was 
long.  "  Good-night,  Aline,  good-night,"  she  said.  And 
Aline  shuddered  and  ran  from  her,  for  Joan's  cheeks 
were  so  hot,  Joan's  hands  were  so  hot,  Joan's  breath  came 
so  quickly,  and  Aline  rushed  from  her  as  from  an  impure 
thing.  And  Joan  laughed  when  she  left  her,  sat  by  her- 
self in  the  big  drawing-room  and  laughed. 

Inside  she  was  all  trembling,  frightened,  much  more 
frightened  than  Aline  had  been. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THBJEE 


SHE  did  not  stay  in  the  big,  empty  drawing-room  by 
herself,  laughing,  for  long  after  Aline  had  left  her.  She 
would  not  wait  until  Louis  had  finished  his  cigarette, 
everything  had  been  said  between  them,  everything.  She 
had  remonstrated  and  prayed,  and  tried  all  she  was  able  to 
resist  him.  But  the  enemy  was  within,  not  without;  it 
•was  herself  she  had  to  fight,  not  Louis.  And  her  fight- 
ing days  were  over,  there  was  no  pure-souled  little  baby 
coming  to  her,  with  starry  eyes,  no  little  pure  baby  to 
fight  for,  this  time.  A  sudden  rush  of  tears  blinded  her 
as  she  stumbled  upstairs  quickly  to  her  room,  quickly, 
as  if  she  heard  footsteps  in  pursuit.  With  panting  breath 
she  rushed  to  her  own  room  and  flung  herself  into  a 
chair,  and  waited  until  the  painful  heart-beats  had  stilled 
their  loud  uneven  pulsing.  But  the  terror  that  was  upon 
her  made  the  stifling  difficult,  and  presently  she  found 
herself  listening  to  it,  consciously  trying  to  calm,  to  quiet, 
her  heart  and  breath.  When  she  realised  what  she  was 
doing  she  laughed  again,  hysterically;  why  should  she 
try  to  be  calm? 

f  She  looked  round  the  bedroom,  chintz-covered,  laven- 
}  der-scented,  with  its  four-post  bed.  The  sight  of  the  bed 
sent  a  sudden  shudder  through  her;  she  could  not  stay 
the  trembling  that  seized  upon  her,  she  put  her  head 
down  upon  her  arms,  hid  her  eyes,  and  had  a  moment's 
thrill,  a  moment's  ecstacy  and  then — remembered  and- 
arose.  The  blinds  were  still  undrawn,  it  was  barely  nine 
o'clock,  the  maids  were  still  at  their  supper.  The  wide 
windows  looked  on  to  the  broad  sweep  of  upland,  it  was 
purple,  not  green,  in  the  light  from  the  rising  moon. 

She  had  drunk  too  much  champagne,  and  she  was 

39i 


392  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

trembling,  and  the  loud  throbs  of  her  heart  were  in  her 
ears  and  in  her  head,  shutting  out  thought ;  yet  she  must 
think.  She  went  over  presently  and  stood  by  the  window, 
and  tried  to  think. 

"  The  wages  of  sin  is  death." 

It  was  no  use  to  let  words  rise  and  bubble  on  the  sur- 
face of  her  mind,  she  must  think. 

She  was  weak,  and  loved  Louis  Althaus,  and  could  not 
resist  him.  She  could  run  away  from  him,  she  had  run 
away  from  him  once ;  but  the  world  was  not  large  enough 
for  her  to  hide  herself  from  Louis,  so  it  was  out  of  the 
world  she  must  run.  Must  she? 

"  Set  His  canon  'gainst  self-slaughter." 

That  was  another  bubble,  she  brushed  it  aside  impa- 
tiently. She  stood  between  Karl  and  Louis,  and  satisfied 
neither  of  them.  If  she  went  from  them,  they  might  come 
together  again,  but  without  those  two  what  had  she  to 
live  for? 

"  Scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days." 

She  let  that  stay  with  her  a  little.  She  coi^d  write, 
she  knew  it  as  she  gazed  at  the  wealth  of  the  summer 
night,  and  felt  it  exquisitely.  She  could  see  the  mists 
rising  from  the  ground,  the  cowering  flowers  and  droop- 
ing grass  bending  before  it,  to  rise  to-morrow  morning 
refreshed,  dew-laden,  to  sparkle  before  the  morning  sun, 
every  detail  she  realised  and  knew  she  could  phrase.  She 
could  write  a  better  book  now  than  "  The  Kaffir  and  his 
Keeper,"  her  eyes  were  wider  open,  what  she  had  said 
vaguely  then,  she  could  say  vividly  now.  But  to-night — 
to-night — Louis!  Her  cheeks  flamed  hot. 

Karl  had  married  her.  How  clearly  she  saw  into  the 
chivalry  of  what  he  had  done !  What  a  beautiful  nature 
he  had,  this  uneducated  South  African  millionaire!  It 
was  the  fashion  to  jeer  at  such  men  as  Karl  Althaus,  but 
what  a  man  he  had  been  to  her!  How  low  and  ill  and 
miserable  she  was  when  he  came  to  her ;  all  that  she  fore- 
saw then  was  only  hunger  or  charity,  for  at  the  time  Karl 
found  her  she  could  not  work.  She  had  received  charity, 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  393 

charity  had  buried  Louis's  baby.  Karl  had  taken  every 
care  from  her.  He  loved  her,  he  wanted  her — as  she 
wanted  Louis.  Karl  had  gone  away ;  he  would  not  plead, 
he  would  not  ask,  he  effaced  himself.  Karl  did  not  talk 
of  sacrifice,  did  not  tell  her  he  was  ill,  ill  with  longing. 
Karl  was  a  man,  strong,  he  put  himself  on  one  side ;  he 
thought  of  her,  of  the  woman  he  loved,  he  went  away  so 
that  she  should  not  see  he  suffered.  But  she  saw,  never- 
theless. 

The  panther  in  Louis,  the  mere  beast,  she  saw  too.  And 
the  beast  within  her  leapt  to  it! 

To-night 

And  by  to-morrow  she  would  be  the  word  that  decent 
women  will  not  speak.  The  word  would  be  reflected  in 
Aline's  eyes,  and  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world  about  her, 
and  in  Karl's  when  he  returned.  She  shrank  and  shiv- 
ered at  the  thought  of  Karl's  face;  it  would  not  be  re- 
proachful, she  thought,  it  would  be  appalled,  horrified, 
then  pitiful.  She  could  not  face  that  pity  in  Karl's  honest 
eyes,  nor  the  trouble  that  would  be  there. 

Could  she  not  subdue  the  beast  in  her  ? 

But  to-night — now — in  an  hour — 

There  was  only  one  way  out  of  it — only  one.  Karl  had 
sacrificed  himself,  effaced  himself,  gone  away.  She  must 
follow  him,  but  on  a  longer  journey. 

And  no  one  ever  faced  grey  Death  with  more  horror. 

She  had  written  of  that  which  no  woman  knew  better — 
of  the  solitude  of  the  soul,  of  the  loneliness  of  each  of 
us,  as  we  walk  side  by  side,  with  the  men  and  the  women 
who  think  they  are  our  friends,  and  know  our  thoughts. 
She  had  written  of  the  loneliness,  and  had  felt  it.  Now  it 
froze  upon  her.  A  sudden  wild  longing  for  Karl  came 
upon  her.  He  would  protect  her,  guard  her,  forgive  her. 
But  no  man  could  protect  her !  For  she  longed  for  Louis  ; 
she  could  not  lock  her  door  against  him — hear  his  foot- 
steps, and  lie  still.  Her  cheeks  grew  flushed  again  and 
hot.  Nothing  she  could  deny  him — nothing.  Once  be- 
fore she  had  fled  because  she  could  deny  him  nothing,  but 


394. 

this  time  she  must  go  beyond  reach,  beyond  possible 
reach. 

Down  the  avenue,  she  could  see  from  her  bedroom  win- 
dow, the  road  lay  grey.  The  trees  were  laden  with  the 
summer  haze;  it  lay  on  their  tops,  it  was  cold  among 
their  branches.  Beneath  the  grey  mist,  in  the  garden 
under  her  window,  the  flower-beds  were  as  graves.  And 
she  wanted  to  live,  desperately  she  wanted  to  live,  her 
eyes  filled  and  overflowed  with  pity  for  herself.  She 
stood,  gazing,  and  the  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes, 
because  she  wanted  so  to  live,  and  dared  not,  and  the 
flower-beds  were  as  graves,  dark  mounds  in  the  moon- 
light. 

She  turned  away  from  the  window  at  length,  saying 
her  "  good-bye"  to  the  world.  Good-bye,  to  all  the  world 
held  for  her,  to  fame  and  love,  and  all  it  held  in  sea  and 
mountain,  in  sweet  spring  and  splendid  storm,  and  wind- 
swept skies,  good-bye  to  Nature.  With  eyes  that 
streamed  and  trembling  hands,  she  shut  the  window; 
she  had  said  good-bye,  she  shut  it  all  out,  and  moved 
away  from  it,  moved  stiffly  on  her  frozen  feet.  She  was 
shivering. 

But  she  got  to  the  medicine  chest,  and  nothing  was 
steady  about  her,  neither  hands  nor  thought;  her  teeth 
chattered. 

The  champagne  had  helped  her  nevertheless,  not 
enough  to  disguise  the  taste  of  the  opium,  but  enough 
to  nerve  her  to  the  gulp;  the  taste  lingered,  nauseous 
and  sickening.  Quickly,  very  quickly,  her  brain  grew 
as  unsteady  as  her  hands  had  been.  She  got  to  the  bed 
and  lay  there,  flat  on  her  back,  for  a  little  time,  and  ter- 
ribly frightened.  Then  slowly  a  beautiful  phrase  shaped 
itself  in  the  darkness,  and  helped  her  into  calm: 

"  After  life's  fitful  fever  she  sleeps  well." 

Now  all  she  felt  was  the  bitter  horrible  taste  in  her 
mouth.  Everything  else  was  calmed  and  quieted  by  the 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER  395 

drug,  but  the  taste  in  her  mouth  was  horrible,  nauseating. 
The  horror  of  what  she  had  done  seized  her,  and  convul- 
sive shuddering  and  a  white  sweat  of  terror  broke  over 
her. 

In  another  drifting  hour  heart  and  mind  grew  torpid, 
and  she  ceased  to  know  or  suffer.  Then  came  semi- 
consciousness.  She  wanted  to  tear  at  the  thing  that  held 
her.  She  had  changed  her  mind,  she  must  get  up,  what 
had  she  done?  The  anguish  that  seized  her  was  un- 
governable, her  half-paralysed  hand,  so  heavy  and  diffi- 
cult to  move,  got  at  the  bell,  and  pulled,  and  pulled — 
and  pulled.  The  knob  came  off  in  her  hand,  and  the 
room  swam  round  her,  and  then  grew  dark  and  peaceful. 
She  had  no  taste,  no  smell,  and  she  smiled  to  herself  in 
the  dark. 

"  After  life's  fitful  fever " 

She  had  pulled  the  bell — it  was  an  electric  bell — she 
should  have  pushed  the  knob,  she  smiled  to  herself  in  the 
dark,  growing  sleepy  now,  and  calm  again.  It  was  stupid 
of  her  to  have  pulled  the  bell,  but  her  hand  and  arms  were 
too  heavy  to  move,  and  all  of  her  was  heavy.  How  in- 
tensely dark  and  quiet  it  was ;  she  opened  her  eyes — the 
darkness  swam  and  floated,  and  made  her  feel  sick,  so 
she  closed  them  again.  How  peaceful  it  was,  how  rest- 
ful !  "  After  life's  fitful  fever " 

But  the  bed  was  too  high,  she  could  not  get  low  enough 
in  it ;  she  was  sinking,  but  she  wanted  to  sink  lower,  she 
would  feel  better  on  the  floor. 

And  then  a  long  silence,  the  silence  of  oblivion,  and 
again  a  vague  consciousness.  How  high  the  bed  was! 
She  wanted  to  go  lower,  get  quieter,  there  was  another 
convulsive  shuddering,  and  Nature's  effort  to  reject  the 
poison.  When  this  was  over,  in  semi-consciousness,  she 
saw  a  crawling  Reptile  of  Fear,  with  viscid  eyes,  and 
tongue  that  slobbered  red  saliva,  it  sickened  her  with  its 
odour,  it  was  the  odour  of  dead  desire.  Overpowering, 
the  Thing  crawled  about  the  room  with  ribbed  and 


396  PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

heaving  sides,  and  she  lay  there  shuddering  at  it,  not 
knowing  its  direction,  as  it  moved,  a  hateful  yellow  light 
shone  through  and  about  it.  Then  the  reptile  turned 
beast,  and  she  recognized  it — and  tried  to  shriek.  It 
was  the  beast  in  Louis!  It  would  spring  on  her — and  its 
mate  was  dead — and  stank  in  the  bed.  With  gasping, 
painful  breath  and  shudder  she  lay;  and  in  the  room, 
now  visible,  now  crouching,  hiding,  more  fearful  still, 
was  that  dank,  viscid  beast,  lurking,  feeling  for  its  dead 
mate. 

Its  mate  was  coming  to  life!  She  struggled  against 
the  drug,  she  was  bound,  and  gagged,  and  choked,  and 
again  convulsions  seized  her. 

Louis's  knocking,  Louis's  soft  knocking,  penetrated. 
But  it  was  the  knocking  on  her  coffin  that  she  thought 
she  heard.  They  were  the  nails  in  her  coffin  being  driven 
in.  They  were  fastening  her  down,  suffocating  her ;  she 
fought  for  breath,  for  strength  to  shriek,  fought  in  her 
dying,  with  gasping  breath,  to  still  her  lover's  gentle 
tapping — drifting  through  agony  into  deep  unconscious- 
ness, and  thence  to  cold  death,  her  last  pang  coming  from 
his  hand,  as  her  first  had  come. 


THE  END 


NEW  POPULAR  EDITIONS  OF 

MARY  JOHNSTON'S 
NOVELS 

TO  HAVE  AND  TO  HOLD 

It  was  something  new  and  startling  to  see  an  au- 
thor's first  novel  sell  up  into  the  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands, as  did  this  one.  The  ablest  critics  spoke  of 
it  in  such  terms  as  "  Breathless  interest,"  The  high 
water  mark  of  American  fiction  since  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  "  Surpasses  all,"  "  Without  a  rival,"  "  Ten- 
der and  delicate,"  "  As  good  a  story  of  adventure  as 
one  can  find,"  "  The  best  style  of  love  story,  clean, 
pure  and  wholesome." 
AUDREY 

With  the  brilliant  imagination  and  the  splendid 
courage  of  youth,  she  has  stormed  the  very  citadel 
of  adventure.  Indeed  it  would  be  impossible  to 
carry  the  romantic  spirit  any  deeper  into  fiction. — 
Agnes  Repplier. 

PRISONERS  OF  HOPE 

•  Pronounced  by  the  critics  classical,  accurate,  inter- 
esting, American,  original,  vigorous,  lull  of  move- 
ment and  life,  dramatic  and  fascinating,  instinct  with 
life  and  passion,  and  preserving  throughout  a  singtt« 
larly  even  level  ot  excellence. 

Each  volume  handsomely  bound  in  cloth.  Large 
12  mo.  size.  Pnce,  75  cents  per  volume,  postpaid. 

GEOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS 
52  DUANE  STREET          ::          NEW  YORK 


GET    THE  BEST  OUT-DOOR    STORIES 

Stewart  Edward  White's 

Great  Novels  of  Western  Life. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP  EDITIONS 
THE  BLAZED  TRAIL 

Mingles  the  romance  of  the  forest  with  the  romance  of 
man's  heart,  making  a  story  that  is  big  and  elemental,  while 
not  lacking  in  sweetness  and  tenderness.  It  is  an  epic  of  the 
life  of  the  lumbermen  of  the  great  forest  of  the  Northwest, 
permeated  by  out  of  door  freshness,  and  the  glory  of  the 
struggle  with  nature. 

THE  SILENT  PLACES 

A  powerful  story  of  strenuous  endeavor  and  fateful  priva- 
tion in  the  frozen  North,  embodying  also  a  detective  story  of 
much  strength  and  skill.  The  author  brings  out  with  sure 
touch  and  deep  understanding  the  mystery  and  poetry  of  thr 
still,  frost-bound  forest. 

THE  CLAIM  JUMPERS 

A  tale  of  a  Western  mining  camp  and  the  making  of  a  man, 
with  which  a  charming  young  lady  has  much  to  do.  The 
tenderfoot  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  meets  the  situation, 
shows  the  stuff  he  is  made  of,  and  "  wins  out." 

THE  WESTERNERS 

A  tale  of  the  mining  camp  and  the  Indian  country,  full  of 
color  and  thrilling  incident. 

THE  MAGIC  FOREST:    A  Modern  Fairy  Story. 

"  No  better  book  could  be  put  in  a  young  boy's  hands," 
says  the  New  York  Sun.  It  is  a  happy  blend  of  knowledge 
of  wood  life  with  an  understanding  of  Indian  character,  as 
well  as  that  of  small  boys. 

Each  volume  handsomely  bound  in  cloth.  Price,  seventy- 
five  cents  per  volume,  postpaid. 

GBOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHEBS 
52  DUANE  STREET          ::          NEW  YORK 


THE    GROSSET  6-   DUNLAP  EDITIONS 
OF  STANDARD  WORKS 

A    FULL  AND    COMPLETE    EDITION    OF 

TENNYSON'S  POEMS. 

Containing  all  the  Poems  issued  under  the  protection 
of  copyright.  Cloth  bound,  small  8  vo.  882  pages, 
with  index  to  first  lines.  Price,  postpaid,  seventy-five 
cents.  The  same,  bound  in  three-quarter  morocco,  gilt 
top,  $2.50,  postpaid. 

THE  MOTHER  OF  WASHINGTON  AND  HER 
TIMES,    by  Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pryor. 

The  brilliant  social  life  of  the  time  passes  before 
the  reader,  packed  full  of  curious  and  delightful  in- 
formation. More  kinds  of  interest  enter  into  it  than 
into  any  other  volume  on  Colonial  Virginia.  Sixty 
illustrations.  Price,  seventy-five  cents,  postpaid. 

SHAKESPEARE'S  ENGLAND,  by  William  Winter 

A  record  of  rambles  in  England,  relating  largely 
to  Warwickshire  and  depicting  not  so  much  the  Eng- 
land of  fact,  as  the  England  created  and  hallowed 
by  the  spirit  of  her  poetry,  of  which  Shakespeare  is 
the  soul.  Profusely  illustrated.  Price,  seventy-five 
cents,  postpaid. 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT  THE  CITIZEN,  by 
Jacob  A.  Riis. 

Should  be  read  by  every  man  and  boy  in  America. 
Because  it  sets  forth  an  ideal  of  American  Citizen- 
ship. An  Inspired  Biography  by  one  who  knows 
him  best,  A  large,  handsomely  illustrated  cloth 
bound  book.  Price,  postpaid,  seventy-five  cents. 

GEOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHEBS 
52  DUANE  STREET          ::          NEW  YORK 


THE  GROSSET  AND  DUNLAP  SPECIAL 

EDITIONS  OF  POPULAR  NO  VELS  THAT 

HAVE  BEEN  DRAMATIZED. 

BREWSTER'S    MILLIONS:      By   George   Bas 

McCutcheon. 

A  clever,  fascinating  tale,  with  a  striking  and  Tin- 
usual  plot  With  illustrations  from  the  original  New 
York  production  of  the  play. 

THE  LITTLE  MINISTER :    By  J.  M.  Barrie. 

With  illustrations  from  the  play  as  presented  by 
Maude  Adams,  and  a  vignette  in  gold  of  Miss  Adams 
on  the  cover. 

CHECKERS :    By  Henry  M.  Blossom,  Jr. 

A  story  of  the  Race  Track.  Illustrated  with  scenes 
from  the  play  as  originally  presented  in  New  York 
by  Thomas  W.  Ross  who  created  the  stage  character. 

THE  CHRISTIAN :    By  Hall  Caine. 
THE  ETERNAL  CITY :    By  Hall  Caine. 

Each  has  been  elaborately  and  successfully  staged. 

IN  THE  PALACE  OF  THE  KING:    By  F.  Marion 
Crawford. 

A  love  story  of  Old  Madrid,  with  full  page  illustra- 
tions.   Originally  played  with  great  success  by  Viola 
Allen, 
JANICE  MEREDITH :    By  Paul  Leicester  Ford. 

New  edition  with  an  especially  attractive  cover, 
a  really  handsome  book.  Originally  played  by  Mary 
Mannering,  who  created  the  title  role. 

These  books  are  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  are 
well-made  in  every  respect,  and  aside  from  their  un- 
usual merit  as  stones,  are  particularly  interesting  to 
those  who  like  things  theatrical.  Price,  postpaid, 
seventy-five  cents  each. 

GEOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHEBS 
52  DUANE  STREET          ::          NEW  YORK 


2 HE  GROSSET  AND  DUNLAP  SPECIAL 

EDITIONS  OF  POPULAR  NOVELS  THAT 

HAVE  BEEN  DRAMATIZED. 

MISTRESS  NELL,  A  Merry  Tale  of  a 
Merry  Time.  (Twixt  Fact  and  Fancy.)  By  George 
Hazelton. 

A  dainty,  handsome  volume,  beautifully  printed 
on  fine  laid  paper  and  bound  in  extra  vellum 
cloth.  A  charming  story,  the  dramatic  version 
of  which,  as  produced  by  Henrietta  Crosman, 
was  one  of  the  conspicuous  stage  successes  of 
recent  years.  With  a  rare  portrait  of  Nell  Gwyn 
in  duotone,  from  an  engraving  of  the  painting  by 
Sir  Peter  Lely,  as  a  frontispiece. 

BY  RIGHT  OF  SWORD, 

By  Arthur  W.  Marchmont. 

With  full  page  illustrations,  by  Powell  Chase. 
This  clever  and  fascinating  tale  has  had  a  large 
sale  and  seems  as  popular  to-day  as  when  first 
published.  It  is  full  of  action  and  incident  and 
will  arouse  the  keen  interest  of  the  reader  at  the 
very  start.  The  dramatic  version  was  very  suc- 
cessfully produced  during  several  seasons  by 
Ralph  Stuart 

These  books  are  handsomely  bound  in  cloth, 
are  well  made  in  every  respect,  and  aside  from 
their  unusual  merit  as  stories,  are  particularly  in- 
teresting to  those  who  like  things  theatrical. 
Price,  postpaid,  seventy-five  cents  each. 

GEOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHEBS 
52  DUANE  STREET          ::          NEW  YORK 


THE   GROSSET  AND  DUNLAP  SPECIAL 

EDITIONS  OF  POPULAR  NO  VELS  THAT 

HA  VE  BEEN  DRAMA  TIZED. 

CAPE  COD  FOLKS:   By  Sarah  P.  McLean  Greene. 

Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play,  as  originally 
produced  at  the  Boston  Theatre. 

IF  I  WERE  KING  :    By  Justin  Huntly  McCarthy. 

Illustrations  from  the  play,  as  produced  by  E.  H. 
Sothern. 

DOROTHY  VERNON  OF  HADDON    HALL: 
By  Charles  Major. 

The  Bertha  Galland  Edition,  with  illustrations  from 
the  play. 

WHEN  KNIGHTHOOD  WAS    IN    FLOWER: 

By  Charles  Major. 

Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  remarkably  suc- 
cessful play,  as  presented  by  Julia  Marlowe. 

THE  VIRGINIAN :    By  Owen  Wister. 

With  full  page  illustrations  by  A.  I.  Keller. 
Dustin  Farnum  has  made  the  play  famous  by  his 
creation  of  the  title  role. 

THE  MAN  ON  THE  BOX:'.  ;By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play,  as  originally 
produced  in  New  York,  by  Henry  E.  Dixey.  A  piquant, 
charming  story,  and  the  author's  greatest  success. 

These  books  are  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  are 
well-made  in  every  respect,  and  aside  from  their  un- 
usual merit  as  stones,  are  particularly  interesting  to 
those  who  like  things  theatrical.  Price,  postpaid, 
seventy-five  cents  each. 

GBOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHEBS 
"52  DUANE  STREET          ::          NEW  YORK 


HERETOFORE  PUBLISHED  AT  $1.50 

BOOKS  BY  JACK  LONDON 

12  MO.,  CLOTH,  75  CENTS  EACH,  POSTPAID 
THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD  : 

With  illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin  and  Charles  Liviug- 

ston  Bull.      Decorated  by  Charles  Edward  Hooper. 
"A  big  story  in  sober  English,  and  witb  thorough  art  in  the 
construction  .  .  .  a  wonderfully  perfect  bit  of  work.  The  dog 
adventures  are  as  exciting  as  any  man's  exploits  could  be,  and 
Mr.  London's  workmanship  is  wholly  satisfying." — The  Ne\o 
York  Sun. 
THE  SEA  WOLF  :   ,  Illustrated  by  W.  J.  Aylward. 

"  This  story  surely  has  the  pure  Stevenson  ring,  the  adven- 
turous glamour,  the  vertebrate  stoicism.  'Tis  surely  the  story 
of  the  making  of  a  man,  the  sculptor  being  Captain  Larsen, 
and  the  clay,  the  ease-loving,  well-to-do,  half-drowned  man, 
to  all  appearances  his  helpless  prey." — Critic. 

THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  ABYSS : 

A  vivid  and  intensely  interesting  picture  of  life,  as  the  an- 
thor  found  it,  in  the  slums  of  London.  Not  a  survey  of  im- 
pressions formed  on  a  slumming  tour,  but  a  most  graphic  ac- 
count of  real  life  from  one  who  succeeded  in  getting  on  the 
"  inside."  More  absorbing  than  a  novel.  A  great  and  vital 
book.  Profusely  illustrated  from  photographs. 

THE  SON  OF  THE  WOLF : 

"  Even  the  most  listless  reader  will  be  stirred  by  the  virile 
force,  the  strong,  sweeping  strokes  with  which  the  pictures  of 
the  northern  wilds  and  the  life  therein  are  painted,  and  the  in- 
sight given  into  the  soul  of  the  primitive  of  nature." — Plain 
Dealer,  Cleveland  ~> 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SNOWS : 

It  is  a  book  about  a  woman,  whose  personality  and  plan  in 
the  story  are  likely  to  win  for  her  a  host  of  admirers.  The 
story  has  the  rapid  movement,  incident  and  romantic  flavor 
which  have  interested  so  many  in  his  tales.  The  illustrations 
are  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

GEOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS 
52  DUANE  STREET  ::  NEW  YORK 


THE  JUNGLE,  BY  UPTON  SINCLAIR: 

A  book  that  startled  the  world  and  caused  two  hemi- 
spheres to  sit  up  and  think.  Intense  in  interest,  the 
dramatic  situations  portrayed  enthrall  the  reader,  while 
its  evident  realism  and  truth  to  life  and  condition*  have 
gained  for  it  the  title  of  "  The  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin '  of 
the  Twentieth  Century." 

"  I  should  be  afraid  to  trust  myself  to  tell  how  it  affects 
me.  It  is  a  great  work ;  so  simple,  so  true,  so  tragic,  so 
human." — David  Graham  Phillips. 

Cloth,  12  mo.     Price,  seventy-five  cents,  postpaid. 

NEW  POPULAR  PRICED  EDITIONS  OF  IM- 

PORTANT  BOOKS  ON  SOCIAL  AND 
POLITICAL   ECONOMY. 

BENJAMIN  KIDD, 

SOCIAL  EVOLUTION, 

PRINCIPLES  OF  WESTERN  CIVILISATION. 

Two  volumes  of  special  interest  and  importance,  in 
view  of  the  social  unrest  of  the  present  time. 

HENRY  GEORGE,  JR. 

THE  MENACE  OF  PRIVILEGE. 

A  study  of  the  dangers  to  the  Republic  from  the  exist- 
ence of  a  favored  class, 

ROBERT  HUNTER, 

POVERTY. 

An  exhaustive  study  of  present  day  conditions  among 
the  poorer  classes. 

JAMES  BRYCE, 

SOCIAL  INSTITUTIONS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

The  author's  recent  appointment  as  the  representative 
of  the  British  Empire  at  Washington  will  lend  additional 
interest  to  this  timely  and  important  work. 

RICHARD  T.  ELY, 

MONOPOLIES  AND  TRUSTS. 

A  masterly  presentation  of  the  Trust  Problem,  by  a 
most  eminent  authority. 

Price,  seventy-five  cents  each,  postpaid. 

GBOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHEBS 
52  DUANE  STREET  ::  NEW  YORK 


THE    GROSSET  6-    DUNLAP  EDITIONS 
OF  GARDEN  BOOKS. 

Each  volume  in  cloth  binding.      Price,  postpaid,  750.  each. 

GARDEN  MAKING,  by  PROFESSOR  L.  H.  BAILEY, 

Professor  of  Horticulture,  Cornell  University. 
Suggestions    for   the    Utilizing    of    Home 
Grounds.      12  mo.,  cloth,  250  illustrations. 
Here  is  a  book  literally  "for  the  million"  who  in  broad 
America  have  some  love  for  growing  things.    It  is  useful  alike 
to  the  owner  of  a  suburban  garden  plot  and  to  the  owner  of  a 
"  little  place  "  in  the  country.     Written  by  the  Professor  of 
Horticulture  at  Cornell  University  it  tells  of  ornamental  gar- 
dening of  any  range,  treats  of  fruits  and  vegetables  for  home 
use,  and  cannot  fail  to  instruct,  inspire  and  educate  the  reader. 

THE  PRACTICAL  GARDEN  BOOK,   by  C.  E. 
HUNN  AND  L.  H.  BAILEY. 

Containing  the  simplest  directions  for  growing  the  common- 
est things  about  the  house  and  garden.  Profusely  illustrated. 
12  mo.,  cloth.  Just  the  book  for  the  busy  man  or  woman  who 
wants  the  most  direct  practical  information  as  to  just  how  to 
plant,  prune,  train  and  to  care  for  all  the  common  fruits,  flowers, 
vegetables,  or  ornamental  bushes  and  trees.  Arranged  alpha- 
betically, like  a  minature  encyclopedia,  it  has  articles  on  the 
making  of  lawns,  borders,  hot -beds,  window  gardening,  lists  of 
plants  for  particular  purposes,  etc. 

A  WOMAN'S   HARDY   GARDEN,    by   HELENA 
RUTHERFURD  ELY.      With  forty-nine  illustra- 
tions from  photographs  taken  in  the  author's 
garden  by  Prof.  C.  F.  Chandler.   1 2  mo. ,  cloth. 
A  superbly  illustrated  volume,  appealing  especially  to  the 
many  men  and  women  whose  love  of  flowers  and  all  things 
green  is  a  passion  so  strong  that  it  often  seems  to  be  a  sort  of 
primal  instinct,  coming  down  through  generation  after  genera- 
tion from  the  first  man  who  was  put  into  a  garden  "  to  dress  it 
and  keep  it."     The  instructions  as  to  planting,  maintenance, 
etc.,  are  clear  and  comprehensive,  and  can  be  read  and  prac- 
ticed with  profit  by  both  amateur  and  professional. 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS 
52  DUANE  STREET  ::  NEW  YORK 


PRINCESS  MARITZA 

A  NOVEL  OF  RAPID  ROMANCE. 

BY  PERCY  BREBNER 
With  Harrison  Fisher  Illustrations  in  Color. 

Offers  more  real  entertainment  and  keen  enjoyment  than 
any  book  since  "  Graustark."  Full  of  picturesque  life  and 
color  and  a  delightful  love-stor^.  The  scene  or  the  story  is 
Wallaria,  one  of  those  mythical  kingdoms  in  Southern  Europe. 
Maritza  is  the  rightful  heir  to  the  throne,  but  is  kept  away  from 
her  own  country.  The  hero  is  a  young  Englishman  of  noble 
family.  It  is  a  pleasing  book  of  fiction.  Large  12  mo.  size. 
Handsomely  bound  in  cloth.  White  coated  wrapper,  with 
Harrison  Fisher  portrait  in  colors.  Price  75  cents,  postpaid. 

Books  by  George  Ban  McCutcheon 

BREWSTER'S  MILLIONS 

Mr.  Montgomery  Brewster  is  required  to  spend  a  million 
dollars  in  one  year  in  order  to  inhent  seven  millions.  He  must 
be  absolutely  penniless  at  that  time,  and  yet  have  spent  the 
million  in  a  way  that  will  commend  him  as  fit  to  inhent  the 
larger  sum.  How  he  does  it  forms  the  basis  for  one  of  the 
most  crisp  and  breezy  romances  of  recent  years. 

CASTLE  CRANEYCROW  (     •> 

/The  story  revolves  around  the  abduction  of  a  young  Ameri- 
can woman  and  the  adventures  created  through  her  rescue. 
The  title  is  taken  from  the  name  of  an  old  castle  on  the  Con- 
tinent, the  scene  of  her  imprisonment. 

GRAUSTARK:  A  Story  of  a  Love  Behind  a  Throne. 

This  work  has  been  and  is  to-day  one  of  the  most  popular 
works  of  fiction  of  this  decade.  The  meeting  of  the  Princess 
of  Graustark  with  the  hero,  while  travelling  incognito  in  this 
country,  his  efforts  to  find  her,  his  success,  the  defeat  of  con- 
spiracies to  dethrone  her,  and  their  happy  marriage,  provide 
entertainment  which  every  type  of  reader  will  enjoy. 

THE  SHERRODS.  With  illustrations  by  C.  D.Williams 
A  novel  quite  unlike  Mr.  McCutcheon's  previous  works  in 
the  field  of  romantic  fiction  and  yet  possessing  the  charm  in- 
separable from  anything  he  writes.  The  scene  is  laid  in  In- 
diana and  the  theme  is  best  described  in  the  words,  "  Whom 
God  hath  joined,  let  no  man  put  asunder." 

Each  volume  handsomely  bound  in  cloth.~  Large  izmo.  size. 
Price  75  cents  per  volume,  postpaid. 

GEOSSET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS 
52  DUANE  STREET  ::         ^NEW  YORK 


POPULAR   PRICED   EDITIONS    OF    BOOKS 
BT 

LOUIS    TRACY 

iimo,  cloth,  75  cents  each,  postpaid 

Books  that  make  the  nerves  tingle — romance  and  ad- 
venture of  the  best  type — wholesome   for  family  reading 


THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT 

*•  Breathless  interest  is  a  hackneyed  phrase,  but  every 
reader  of  '  The  Pillar  of  Light '  who  has  red  blood  in 
his  or  her  veins,  will  agree  that  the  trite  saying  applies  to 
the  attention  which  this  story  commands. — NetoTork  Sun. 

THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING 

"  Here  is  a  story  filled  with  tbe  swing  of  adventure. 
There  are  no  dragging  intervals  in  tliis  volume  :  from  the 
moment  of  their  landing  on  the  island  until  the  rescuing 
crew  find  them  there,  there  is  not  a  dull  moment  for  the 
young  people — nor  for  the  reader  either." — New  York 
Times. 

THE  KING  OF  DIAMONDS 

"  Verily,  Mr.  Tracy  is  a  prince  of  story-tellers.  His 
charm  is  a  little  hard  to  describe,  but  it  is  as  definite  as 
that  of  a  rainbow.  The  reader  is  carried  along  by  the 
robust  imagination  of  the  author. — San  Francisco  Exam- 
iner. 


GROSSET    &     DUN  LAP,    NEW  YORK 


EDITIONS    IN    UNIFORM    BINDING 


WORKS  OF 

F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 

izmo,  Cloth,  each  75  cents,  postpaid 

VIA  CRUCIS  :  A   Romance  of  the   Second  Crusade. 

Illustrated  by  Louis  Loeb. 

Mr.  Crawford  has  manifestly  brought  his  best  qualities 
os  a  student  of  history,  and  his  finest  resources  as  a  master 
af  an  original  and  picturesque  style,  to  bear  upon  this  story. 

MR.  ISAACS  :  A  Tale  of  Modern  India. 

Under  an  unpretentious  title  we  have  here  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  novels  that  has  been  given  to  the  world. 

THE  HEART  OF  ROME. 

The  legend  of  a  buried  treasure  under  the  walls  of  the 
palace  of  Conri,  known  to  but  few,  provides  the  frame- 
work for  many  exciting  incidents. 

SARACINESCA 

A  graphic  picture  of  Roman  society  in  the  last  days  of 
the  Pope's  temporal  power. 

SANT'  ILARIO  ;  A  Sequel  to  Saracinesca. 

A  singularly  powerful  and  beautiful  story,  fulfilling  every 
requirement  of  artistic  fiction. 

IN  THE  PALACE  OF  THE  KING  :  A  Love  Story 

of  Old  Madrid.     Illustrated. 

The  imaginative  richness,  the  marvellous  ingenuity  of 
plot,  and  the  charm  of  romantic  environment,  rank  this 
novel  among  the  great  creations. 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP,    NEW  YORK 


HERETOFORE     PUBLISHED     AT     #1.50 

NOVELS    BY   JACK    LONDON 

1 2 MO.,  CLOTH,  75   CENTS  EACH,  POSTPAID 

THE   CALL  OF   THE  WILD 

With  Illustration*  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin  and  Charles  Livingston  Bull 
Decorated  by  Charles  Edward  Hopper 

"A  tale  that  is  literature  .  .  .  the  unity  of  its  plan 
and  the  firmness  of  its  execution  are  equally  remarkable 
...  a  story  that  grips  the  reader  deeply.  It  is  art,  it 

is  literature It  stands  apart,  far  apart  with 

so  much  skill,  so  much  reasonableness,  so  much  convinc- 
ing logic." — N.  T,  Mail  and  Express. 

"A  big  story  in  sober  English,  and  with  thorough  art 
in  the  construction  ...  a  wonderfully  perfect  bit  of 
work.  The  dog  adventures  are  as  exciting  as  any  man's 
exploits  could  be,  and  Mr.  London's  workmanship  is 
wholly  satisfying." — The  New  York  Sun. 

"  The  story  is  one  that  will  stir  the  blood  of  every 
lover  of  a  life  in  its  closest  relation  to  nature.  Whoever 
loves  the  open  or  adventure  for  its  own  sake  will  find 
«The  Call  of  the  Wild'  a  most  fascinating  book." — 
The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

THE   SEA   WOLF 

Illustrated  by  W.  J.  Aylward 

"This  story  surely  has  the  pure  Stevenson  ring,  the 
adventurous  glamour,  the  vertebrate  stoicism.  'Tis  surely 
the  story  of  the  making  of  a  man,  the  sculptor  being 
Captain  Larsen,  and  the  clay,  the  ease-loving,  well-to-do, 
half-drowned  man,  to  all  appearances  his  helpless  prey." 
— Critic. 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP,     NEW  YORK 


THE  GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 
ILLUSTRATEDv  EDITIONS 
OF  FAMOUS  BOOKS  a  0  0 


The  following  books  are  large  izmo  volumes  5^x8^  inches  in 
lize,  are  printed  on  laid  paper  of  the  highest  grade,  and  bound  in  cloth.. 
with  elaborate  decorative  covers.  They  are  in  ever;  respect  beautiful 
books. 

UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN— By  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

A  new  edition,  printed  from  entirely  new  plates,  on  fine  laid  paper 
of  extra  quality,  with  half-tone  illustrations  by  Louis  Betts. 

PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS— By  John  Bunyan. 

A  new  edition  of  Bunyan's  Immortal  allegory,  printed  from  new 
plate*  on  fine  laid  paper,  with  illustrations  by  H.  M.  Brock. 

THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD— By  Susan  Warner. 

Printed  from  entirely  new  plates,  on  fine  laid  paper  of  superior 
quality,  and  illustrated  with  numerous  drawings  by  Fred  Pegram. 

THE  LITTLE  MINISTER  (Maude  Adams  Edition) 
— By  J.  M.  Barrie. 

Printed  on  fine  laid  paper,  large  izmo  in  size,  with  new  Cuver  de- 
sign in  gold,  and  eight  full-page  half  tone  illustrations  from  the  play. 

PROSE  TALES— By  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

A  large  nmo  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  with  decorative  cover. 
Containing  eleven  striking  drawings  by  Alice  B.  Woodward,  a  biog- 
raphy of  the  author,  a  bibliography  of  the  Tales,  and  comprehensive 
notes.  The  best  edition  ever  published  in  a  single  volume. 

ISHMAEL       j   >  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth. 

SELF-RAISED      )   The  two  rols.  in  a  fiat  box,  or  boxed  separately. 
Handsome  new  editions  of  these  two  old  favorites,  with  illustration* 
by  Clare  Angell. 
THE  FIRST  VIOLIN— By  Jessie  Fothergill. 

A  fine  edition  of  this  popular  musical  novel,  with  illustrations  by 
Clare  Angell. 

EACH  VOLUME  IN  A  BOX.     PRICE  ONE  DOLLAR  EACH 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP    ::    NEW  YORK 


A        BEAUTIFUL         BOOK 

LORNA       DOONE 

EXMOOR  EDITION.        By  R.  D.  BLACKMORE 

A  large  izmo  volume,  about  5^x8^  inches  in  size, 
bound  in  cloth,  with  decorative  cover  of  floral  design, 
and  colored  tups.  Printed  on  fine  smooth  wove  paper  of 
excellent  quality,  and  embellished  with  over  two  hundred 
and  fifty  drawings,  initial  letters,  head  and  tail  pieces,  etc., 
by  some  of  the  best  American  Artists,  among  whom  are 
Henry  Sandham,  George  Wharton  Edwards,  W.  H. 
Drake,  Harry  Fenn,  and  Wm.  Hamilton  Gibson.  Un- 
doubtedly the  most  elaborate  and  expensively  printed 
edition  of  this  greatest  novel  of  modern  times  yet  offered 
it  a  moderate  price. 
PRICE,  BOXED,  ONB  DOLLAR. 

THE  SAME,  in  three  quarter  Crushed  Morocco,  gold 
tops  and  silk  head  bands. 

PRICE,  BOXED,  Two  DOLLARS  AND  FIFTT  CENTS. 

THE  SAME,  Two  Volume  Edition,  beautifully  bound 
in  crimson  cloth,  with  colored  tops,  and  «  fac-simile  of 
John  Ridd's  coat  of  arms  in  ink  and  gold  on  the  covers. 
Enclosed  in  a  flat  box. 
PRICK  Two  DOLLARS  PER  SET. 

THE  SAME,  Two  Volume  Edition,  in  three-quarter 
Crushed  Morocco,  with  gold  tops  and  silk  head  bands. 
Encased  in  a  flat  box. 

PRICE  FIVE  DOLLARS  PER  SET. 

Sent  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

52  Duane  Street  ::        NEW  YORK. 


THE   POPULAR   NOVELS  Ot 

A.  W.  MARCHMONT 

NOW  OFFERED  IN  HANDSOMELY  MADE 
CLOTH  BOUND  EDITIONS  AT  LOW  PRICES 

Few  writers  of  recent  years  have  achieved  such  a  wide 
popularity  in  this  particular  field  as  has  Mr.  Marchmont. 
For  rattling  good  stories  of  love,  intrigue,  adventure, 
plots  and  counter-plots,  we  know  of  nothing  better,  and 
to  the  reader  who  ha?  become  surfeited  with  the  analyti- 
cal and  so-called  historical  novels  of  the  day,  we  heartily 
commend  them.  There  is  life,  movement,  animation, 
on  every  page,  and  for  a  tedious  railwar  journey  or  a 
dull  rainy  afternoon,  nothing  could  be  better.  They  will 
make  you  forget  your  troubles. 

The  following  five  volumes  are   now  ready    in  our 
popular  copyright  series: 

BY  RIGHT  OF  SWORD 

With  illustrations  by  POWELL  CHASE. 

A  DASH  FOR  A  THRONE 

With  illustrations  by  D.  MURRAY  SMITH. 

MISER  HOADLEY'S  SECRET 

With  illustrations  by  CLARE  ANGELL. 

THE  PRICE  OF  FREEDOM 

With  illustrations  by  CLARE  ANGELL. 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  PERIL 

With  illustrations  by  EDITH  LESLIE  LANG. 
Large  I  zmo  in  size,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth, 

uniform  in  style. 
Pritt  J5  cents  per   volume,  postpaid. 

GROSSET    &     DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS 
Duane  Street  ::          ;;          NEW  YORK 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  608  354    7 


